Seize The Day
by Hot Monkey Brain
Summary: Ike returns to South Park after a near ten-year absence, looking for answers. But he might not like what he finds. Slash, complete.
1. Bury Your Dead

**Author Note: **This is my brand-new fic, which will probably run to about twelve chapters. The chapters are much shorter than I usually post, but I think my reasons why will become obvious as we go on. Shit, I'm terrified of posting this. It's a complete departure from what I've posted in the past, there's a lot of angst and a lot of depressing stuff. If you enjoy it, please let me know. Or if you see glaring errors, feel free to point them out too. The story slammed into my head whole one evening and I've written practically all of it in one sleep-deprived fortnight, I usually brood over them a whole lot longer before posting and I try to finish one story before moving on to another – this story just marks a ton of departures for me!

**Warnings: **Boy love and lots of it. I won't be giving away pairings for a while, for reasons which should become obvious later on. Character death from the very start. There are going to be a lot of flashbacks, none in this first chapter however. I had to dream up a name for Kindergoth, who is mentioned a few times, but I really dislike the fanon name most people give him (it doesn't sit right with me for the character) so he's got a sexy new one, lol. Bad language, occasional racist terms, other things that people might find offensive – as always, the characters views aren't necessarily mine. I swiped some song lyrics, which is probably illegal but hey, it's all free advertising. I don't own the characters or town, but you already knew that, right?

Enjoy!

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_You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace..._

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Ike Broflovski arrives back in South Park on a Friday morning, pulling his year-old car into the parking lot of the only motel in the small town and taking a deep breath once the engine is shut off. He has not been in this town in years, almost ten of them to be exact, and although the drive through town to this spot was short, it has given him a weird sense of deja vu. There have been some changes, but for the most part, South Park is almost exactly as he remembers it. It gives him an unpleasant feeling of falling, being swallowed by his own past.

Calming breaths do not work, he is still struggling not to feel like the twelve year old boy he was the last time he set foot in this town, a standout in the small community for all kinds of reasons. He had already been skipped ahead four grades at that early age, being younger and shorter and far more awkward than his classmates had been a daily feeling and not a pleasant one. Since then he has become more comfortable with himself and being reminded of it is not nice. For a moment, he is tempted to floor the accelerator and get the hell out of there. Fuck South Park, this place has not been home for a long time.

He stops himself, although the urge remains strong. He is not here for himself. He is here to find his brother.

Kyle Broflovski has taken on almost mythical proportions in Ike's mind. As a child, he worshipped his big brother, wanted to be just like him. Kyle had been a hazel-eyed redhead with curls that would 'fro if he allowed them to and who had finished all his growing at five-ten. He had an explosive temper that had frightened Ike sometimes, but he had always been protective of his baby brother and that anger had been focused on people who hurt them, rarely Ike himself. He was incredibly smart but not freakishly so, like Ike was, he had good friends and passing acquaintances, unlike Ike who was isolated thanks to his youth compared to his classmates and his smarts compared to his age group. Kyle had been Ike's best friend, his idol, his template of adulthood. Even though he had been only seventeen when he died.

Before Ike moves on with his own life, he has to do something about his past one. He needs to come to terms with everything that happened that year, the year when Kyle had suddenly seemed both elated and desperately worried, the one where Ike had been left in the dark. The one that had ended with Kyle's broken body, the funeral, his devastated parents shipping the three of them out of town, a confused jumble of mental snapshots and overwhelming grief. Ike's final memory of South Park was the day they had left, his parents in the front, Ike in the back-seat gazing vacantly from the window. He had seen a boy encased so firmly in his hoody that only his reddened eyes showed, arms wrapped tight around his body; Kenny McCormick, all alone. Stan Marsh, his brothers best friend since forever, had not been present. Ike had turned his head away, only for his gaze to fall on the empty place where Kyle should be sitting. For a moment, he had seen Kyle with an almost hallucinatory quality, his expression as scared and broken as those of his friend. But there was nothing but that seat, where his brother should be sitting with a book or a games console in his hands, looking up to give Ike those confidential looks as if they were in on some huge secret together.

In the years since then, Ike has struggled. He has thrown himself into study, anything to escape that silence, the silence between his parents, the silence in his own life that should have been taken up by his brothers talk, his plans, his presence. It seems wrong somehow to be happy, every laugh followed by an unconscious look for Kyle's reaction and finding nothing. He second guesses what his brother might think of this job, this partner, this decision. Kyle dominates his life in a way he would never have dreamed of doing had he lived.

If Ike is to release his brothers hold on him, he must find a way to let go. It has led him to spend his annual leave in this town, that he has not seen for so long, to make some sense of what happened. Not to forget Kyle or anything so cold, but to find a way to make himself believe that Kyle would still love him but is not coming back. He knows it intellectually, but his heart has never accepted that Kyle is gone. He needs to come to terms with it – and he needs to find out what was happening in his brothers life just before his death. What happened to Kyle was ruled an accident but even in his grief, Ike heard the rumours. Oh yes, he was devastated, not deaf. He suspects it was these rumours that drove his parents from the town, those and the constant presence of Kyle everywhere they went.

Ike gets out of the car, slamming the door and going to get his rucksack and laptop from the back-seat. He has a good job, his genius paying for the expensive vehicle and his flat in another state and the designer clothes that will probably stand out a mile in this hick town. It doesn't really matter. Once news of his presence gets out, he'll be the topic of hot gossip. Might as well advertise that he's been successful. He wonders what Kyle would make of his success, of his return. He thinks his brother would approve.

He shrugs the rucksack onto his shoulder, glancing out of the lot at the snow-covered town. Some things never changed. "Home sweet home," he murmurs under his breath. "I'm gonna find out what was going on with you back then Kyle. See if I don't."

_Brace yourself_, replies Kyle from the confines of his mind. _I can't promise you'll like everything you find out._

"That's a chance I have to take," says Ike, cursing himself for talking out loud. People are going to start thinking he's insane if they see him and that is not an impression he wants to make, not when he's there on Kyle's behalf. He wants them to think good things of Kyle, to see his brother in the same way that Ike himself does. A crazy sibling does not sit well with that image. But he does not make friends easily and talking to Kyle, imagining what he might say, has always helped him to come to a decision, or simply to feel less alone.

There is a woman behind the desk of the motel reception, one who looks slightly familiar although she is too old to be someone he shared a class with, too old as well to be one of his brothers friends. He asks her for a room and she tells him they are all out of singles, that he will have to take one of the larger family rooms. This does not bother him, he can easily afford the money.

"Some class reunion thing going on this weekend," she says as she processes his credit card, scorn in her voice. "Ten years since leaving good old Park County High. That's why you can't get a single, everyone coming home to show how _well_ they've done for themselves, or to drink themselves stupid and hop into bed with a random ex. I'm guessing you're not here for that though, Mr uh..." She removes his card from the machine, transaction finished and looks at his name to complete the thought. Ike can see the way she tenses up and her eyes flash wider before she manages to hang on to her bored expression.

_She recognises the name,_ says Kyle in that familiar, amused tone. _It's not like you didn't expect this. Dead teenagers in small towns get remembered. Just deal with it._

He takes the card from her, not quite smiling. "Not really," he says. "That was my brothers class, not mine."

She takes the key for his room and gives it to him, not smiling either but definitely more friendly than she had been. "I didn't recognise you Ike. Welcome back."

Ike gives her a nod, putting the pieces together – the short dyed-black hair, the mild disinterest until she found out who he is, the lack of gushing now that she does know – but mostly it is the way she says his name. He knows her voice and although she has changed in the last ten years, she retains some of that Goth-chick mystique. Back in the day, after his brother died, his few friends avoided him like the plague and Kyle's friends were as broken as he was. Only one person of his own age had even tried and hadn't skirted around the subject of Kyle either. The kids in town still called him Kindergoth even though he was in middle school, something that had pissed him off no end, but his real name though was Keiran. The Goth scene in South Park was minute and in spite of the age gap – the girl at reception had been even older than his brother – they had stuck together. And they had accepted that Keiran wanted to hang out with Ike without question, accepting him. She hadn't been nice exactly but she had been normal and relatively sympathetic, he wishes he could recall her name. If he knew that, he could ask her how she came to be working in the motel, a job that seems too menial, more for a retired person than a woman pushing thirty whom he recalls as being quite intelligent.

"Thanks," he says to her, this time managing a small smile. "I wish I could say it was nice to be back. Place hasn't changed much."

"South Park? It's like a time capsule. Nothing ever really changes." She regards him flatly. "You being here at the same time as Kyle's high school class reunion isn't a coincidence, is it?"

He shakes his head, wondering what exactly there is to say. No, it's not. But he wants to learn more about his brother than he already knows, things he might have discovered had his brother seen him grow up. Things that can't be learned from doting parents or remembered from a childish perspective. He wants to learn about Kyle the person.

She leans on the desk a moment, looking at him. "Look, I've got a lunch break coming up. If you want, I can fill you in on a few things that have been going on since you left town. Maybe give you an idea who to talk to, how to approach them. Who to avoid."

Ike considers this and nods, slightly touched. She doesn't have to do it and he doesn't think she has an agenda, like extracting the gossip from him before anyone else can. The last time he saw her she was what, eighteen, nineteen? And even then, she had never pried. Keiran's friends had understood his hurt but never fed on it. Coming home had been more intimidating than he had anticipated and he feels as if being forewarned would help.

"I'll drop my stuff in my room and be right back," he says, thinking that he can buy her lunch – working here can't pay well – and find out what has been going on. He knew Kyle well, but there was still the age gap, the family bond that meant that Kyle might not have told him everything. And it has been ten years, she might be able to remember something or someone who has slipped from Ike's memory and remained in hers. He is slightly tired, he has been driving all morning and most of the day before, but thinking that he might be about to get some answers about his brother invigorates him. Although he's embarrassed he can't recall her name.

_Henrietta_, supplies Kyle as Ike walks into the room, too large for him but is all that is available. Ike nods, that's right. Henrietta, that was it. Better to run into her than to go into town alone and overwhelmed, perhaps to be recognised by someone less discreet.

He leaves his bag, changes his shirt and runs a hand through thick, dark hair before heading back to reception. Henrietta is in front of the desk, showing that she is wearing black boots, black pants and a low cut black top – Ike has to hide a smile. People matured, he thinks, but they don't change as much as others assume they will. Her replacement is apparently a cleaner, wearing whites and her hair tied back.

"I've only got a half-hour," Henrietta explains, leading them out of the building and immediately lighting a cigarette. This time, Ike does not hide his grin. If South Park has not changed, then nor has she. She leads the way across the street to a bar, where Ike vaguely remembers his father would occasionally drink with his friends. But no one in the depths looks familiar.

Henrietta orders a burger and a double vodka, Ike settles for curly fries and a beer. They find a booth and wait for the food, Henrietta taking a sip of her drink and playing with an unlit cigarette. "I can only get a half-hour because that girl's no use at all. Likely to forget to charge money, or mess up the machine, but it should be quiet enough. One of the high school kids takes over from me at five-thirty, my kids come to the motel once they finish classes and I take them home from there. That's why I'm working there." Her eyebrows go up, but she doesn't seem irate. "I could see you wondering."

Ike drops his eyes, embarrassed – he knows he is socially awkward and gives himself away too easily. Now he feels as if he has been caught looking down on Henrietta and it is not like that at all. But when he raises his eyes, Henrietta seems more amused than anything. "You still wear your feelings on your face Ike. I'm not ashamed, I can work around the children and get paid. There's not many jobs going in this town you know." Her dark eyes examine him. "You seem to be doing okay for yourself. How have you been, really?"

Taking his bottle, Ike takes a mouthful of beer and wonders how to answer. "I've survived," he settles with, although things are not that simple.

Henrietta nods, as if she understands this, and asks nothing more than he has already volunteered. "Keiran's still in town," she says casually. "He works in Denver, but he lives here. You should look him up, if you have the time."

Ike nods, he remembers that in spite of the wrenching pain of missing Kyle, then moving and having everything familiar and right torn from beneath his feet, having no Keiran to talk to was the final straw. They had not kept in touch, Keiran had no computer at home and Ike had not been supposed to use facebook, they had fallen out of touch and never fallen back in again.

Henrietta looks up as their food arrives, not looking especially appetising but Ike has seen worse. She takes a healthy mouthful while Ike picks at a fry, taking a small nibble. It tastes fine, but Ike has never had a big appetite. Too many meals missed or eaten without thought while he works.

_Eat,_ says Kyle. _You're too thin and you're not working right now, you've got no excuse._

_Jewish mother,_ Ike thinks back but fortunately does not say aloud. He eats the fry and takes another. Henrietta rests the burger on her plate and watches as he eats more for the fuel than with any sense of pleasure or indulgence.

"I didn't know Kyle very well," she says abruptly. "I knew Stan really and Kyle by association. But you already knew that."

Ike nods. He did. When he was growing up, Stan was as much a staple in the Broflovski house as Kyle himself, the two boys were inseparable. If there is anyone who can tell him some stuff about his brothers life prior to his death, it's Stan Marsh. If only he knew where the man was. But there were two others who spent almost as much time with Kyle as Stan, one of whom actually liked him and he was hoping they would be available as well.

"How about..."

"Kenny never left," says Henrietta dryly. Ike can sense some story there, but he isn't sure how to ask for it. Henrietta takes another bite of her food, clearly wondering how to phrase things. "I don't know how much of this you can remember, it was a long time ago, but Kenny McCormick was one of the poorest kids in the whole town. And he's got that – thing. Where he doesn't die."

For a moment, Ike is confused but there are some memories crowding his mind, of Kenny being maimed or mauled. Away from South Park, it had seemed like something he'd dreamed up but once home, it was just something else that he remembered. That it doesn't seem strange is the strangest thing of all.

"There was never anywhere else for Kenny to go," says Henrietta sympathetically. "He's still around but no one really sees him much. He works, I think, I don't know where or what he does. Lives on his own. He doesn't really encourage friendships but for you? I think he'll talk to you. I know he looks after your brothers grave. You didn't hear that from me though."

Ike remembers Kenny as as a sociable, friendly young man, ready to talk to anyone, a smile on his face and a joke (usually filthy) at the ready. That Kenny would have become almost a recluse from the way Henrietta speaks does not sit well with his memories. But Kenny had thought the world of Kyle too and Ike knows all too well how his death has changed everything, for everyone.

"I don't really keep up with who does what," says Henrietta, pausing to finish her burger. Ike has barely touched his fries and he forces himself to have a couple more. "Kyle hung out with that fat boy too, but I don't know what he might be doing. There aren't that many of that class still in town. The Tweak kid, he's still around, but no one sees him either. He's agoraphobic, he never leaves the house. I didn't know him at all and obviously I don't see him. His parents still work at the coffee shop though, you could start there."

She looks at him curiously, finishing her drink. "It's none of my business, I know. But – what are you doing back here? What are you trying to prove?"

"Prove?" Ike shrugs, frowning at the odd word. "Nothing. I just – I wanted to know more about my brother. I loved him, y'know? And I miss him... I just want to do this. To see if I can put the whole thing into some perspective."

Henrietta nods, her own frown mirroring his. "There was talk when it happened. That it might not have been an accident. I wondered if you'd come to find out for sure."

Ike heard the talk at the time, and it has been on his mind to find out if there were any signs. If Kyle really was depressed enough to deliberately take his own life. Because if Ike finds out that he was, then he will never forgive himself. But he has not forgiven himself anyway, for not seeing that there may have been something wrong and leaving their whole family with questions and guilt and blame. An accident will be easier on them all.

But there are so many unanswered questions.

"There's a few people staying in the motel, but most of the parents are still here, so there might be more staying with them. I'll tell you this though, there's no Marsh booked in and his parents are long gone." Henrietta pushes her plate aside and checks her watch. "I gotta go back to work. Ike..." She looks up at him. "Good luck."

He smiles at her, watching as she walks from the bar and immediately lights a cigarette. Ever since he heard about this reunion while browsing the net, looking for someone else who recalls his brother, he has known he would be there, but he has been dreading it. Mostly facing the people from Kyle's past, who have no reason at all to talk to him and may not be able to tell him anything he doesn't already know. But Henrietta has made him think it might not be so bad, that he might actually be able to get through the weekend. And of course, she has given him a few helpful pointers.

He goes to the bar, orders another beer – he doubts he will be driving anyway, the town is small enough so that he can walk to most places – and while he gets his drink, asks if the barman has a town phone book. He does, Ike is pleased to see that it also lists the addresses of the people in it. He asks for a pen and realises the man sat at the bar with what is almost certainly not his first drink is giving him a sharp look. Ike looks back, thinking it might be someone who knows him but if it is, Ike does not recognise him, although he has the nagging sensation that he reminds him of someone. He's not nearly as old as he appears to be on first glance, perhaps the same age or a little younger as his own parents but prematurely aged, watching him through faded blue eyes beneath a baseball cap advertising a popular beer brand, possibly a freebie. The man meets his eyes and turns away slowly, just as the barman hands Ike a pen.

Ike returns to the table and flicks through the phone book. He finds a number for Kenny McCormick and an address, in an apartment building that used to be a largish house. Not quite middle class but a step up from what he had, if Ike remembers correctly. He hesitates a moment, then goes through the book again, finding an listing for a Richard Tweak, the only one in the book. It could be the person Henrietta had mentioned, there is only one way to find out. He scribbles both addresses on a beermat, then closes the book and takes a long drink of his beer, noticing that the drunk at the bar has pulled out a phone and is talking into it in low tones. Shit. Hopefully, it is not Ike who is the subject of the conversation.

He leaves the bar and heads for the address he has for Kenny McCormick, wondering – hoping – the man will talk to him. He sees no reason why he wouldn't but if Kenny is as isolated as Henrietta made it sound, he might be reluctant. Kenny was devoted to Kyle though, maybe he will make an exception for Ike.

But when he gets to the apartment and rings the bell repeatedly, no one answers and Ike is left at a loss.


	2. A Calm Before The Storm

**Author Note:** Huge, huge thanks to Notebook Chen, xxSay, Dretastic, let's point out the obvious, ticktock1029 and Freddysgirl123 for the reviews! And to everyone who alerted and favourited! I had the largest response to this story's first chapter than any other I've written and it's been wholly positive, thank you all so much!

I meant to say in the last chapter and forgot; I can't promise that everyone will like where this story goes. There's a lot of twists and I tried to make it so nothing is as it seems at first – I hope you'll bear with me. I'm planning to update at least once a week and this might just be the fastest I've ever posted a second chapter. Chapters three through seven are also written already, along with the bulk of all the chapters after that. I got carried away, heh heh. The next chapter of WHY is pending though, I hope not to keep you waiting too long with that. And... that's enough of my nervous rambling. Enjoy! Review! Always take a towel!

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_Someone told me long ago there's a calm before the storm, I know – it's been coming for some time..._

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Ike finds himself outside the police station later on that day, which seems to have been modified and grown since the last time he was in town. That is not a surprise though, South Park has always been a strange town and the precinct has adapted to reflect that. On the rare occasions his father has reminisced about the town, he has mentioned how at one point it was small enough to be policed by a single cop with the aid of the Denver department, but by the time Ike started school there was a larger force. It seems that now there are even more cops, but there is a good chance that there will be someone who remembers his brothers case. This is not the city after all, in small towns cops tend to be a part of the community, a local, and remain at the same precinct for large parts or even the whole of their careers.

He explains himself to the young police woman on the desk, who looks about the same age as Ike himself. She does not seem very impressed with his story about finding out more about his brothers case, but speaks to someone on the phone and it appears to be a slow day in town, because twenty minutes later a red-haired cop appears. Ike finds him vaguely familiar, but it could be his imagination he supposes. The cop introduces himself as Sergeant Yates and asks Ike to come to his desk, in an open plan office on the ground floor. There are a few people around, but they don't seem to be paying much attention to Ike, nor are they working especially hard. There is occasional laughter, the ringing of phones. It's different from what TV has led Ike to think.

"Kyle Broflovski." Yates sits at his chair, looking at Ike sympathetically. "I caught that shout. I'd had dealings with him before, and with you. Kyle came to us when you got into that thing with your teacher. _Nice_." He smirks without malice and Ike blushes, wondering not for the first time if that nightmare was what put him off women for life. And remembering how it was Kyle who was there for him then.

He taps on the file and Ike surmises, correctly, that Yates retrieved it when he heard who was looking for him and why. "There's not much to tell you that you won't already know. A guy taking a walk with his dog found your brother below the observation deck we've got over town – seemed like a good idea at the time to build the thing, you can see the whole of South Park from up there. But you have to drive or it takes too long, and then you have to walk some of it anyway. Damn cold and wet in the snow and it's pretty much always snowing. So it's not the popular spot the mayor thought it'd be. Pure chance he was found so quickly, with the weather being what it was. Guy might have walked past if it wasn't for the dog."

Ike envisions his brother, gradually buried beneath a layer of snow, some nondescript mongrel sniffing at his barely-exposed arm. He shivers and Yates must see it, because he moves on.

"It was ruled an accident." Yates opens the file to check a couple of details. "His back was broken and there was damage to his skull, consistent with a fall. The fence up there was lousy, still is. The wind was coming in from the north, it was slippery underfoot. The theory was, he got a faceful of wind and snow, slipped back, fell right over the railing. Landed just right for the fall to kill him outright. An hour or so later the snow might have broken his fall, but the hill protected the ground where he landed from getting too covered. And then the wind changed, so it started covering him."

"Sergeant." Ike catches Yates's eye and holds it, hoping that a mask of calm will get him the honesty he needs. "If it was that late and that unpleasant, then why was Kyle there at all? He didn't have a car. I know you must have thought of that, so I need to know – did you call it an accident for my parents sake?"

"You're smart." Yates closes the file again. "We wondered how he got there, yeah. There was no reason for him to be there, no girl for him to go sneaking around with, no one else with him to raise the alarm. So, we considered the suicide theory too."

_Suicide_, sneers Kyle in Ike's mind. _As if._

"A lot of kids feel depressed and don't show it outwardly," continues Yates. "And some of them feel like there's no way out. That didn't seem to be the case with Kyle though, he seemed normal and happy enough, but who can tell sometimes? The injuries weren't really consistent with suicide though. If he'd jumped, he would have fallen forward – but it could have been that he'd changed his mind, tried to climb back up and slipped, fallen backward. It still didn't sit right though, the observation deck just isn't high enough to be certain of success and there were no drugs or alcohol in his system that might have clouded his judgement. And kids who make cries for attention usually make sure someone's gonna find them right away, so they _do_ live. It can't be ruled out entirely, it's not like there were witnesses, but it's not very likely. I'd bet my retirement fund he wasn't planning on killing himself when he went up there."

Ike nods. He expected that dissection, he has turned the possibility in his head for ten years and returned to the same conclusion every time. Which leads to the question he has been dreading giving voice to. He expects that Yates will be pissed at him for asking, might not give him the time of day any more, but he has to know.

"Did you consider there could have been someone else up there with him?"

Yates sighs and Ike braces himself to be told off, like some child who has pushed good humour too far. Instead, Yates merely shakes his head and speaks, outlining the theories to Ike. And why not? The case is closed and there is nothing confidential about it.

"Are you implying that your brother may have been murdered Mr Broflovski? Because we did examine that theory too. We weren't anxious to just close the case and have a doughnut, no matter what some people think about small town police forces."

"You didn't find anything?"

"Not a thing. Kyle had people who didn't like him, but there are degrees and remember, he ended up dead."

_Like I could forget_ thought Ike bitterly.

"His school friends spoke well enough of him," said Yates. "Not all of them liked him, but none of them seemed to hate him and they didn't mention him being bullied. We looked at the hate crime angle, we got a lot of pressure about that one. Kyle was a Jew and there's been several Anti-Semitic incidents in town over the years. And of course, one of Kyle's peers was Eric Cartman." Yates gives a wry smile and Ike can almost read his mind. Yates does not like Cartman, even after all these years. "There were rumours that Cartman was involved in the Hitler Youth organisation, white power and that kind of thing. But it was just rumour. Cartman went out for chicken that night, time confirmed by the receipt and workers. His mother had a gentleman caller, who vouches that he returned with the food and never left the house until the morning. He wasn't involved."

Yates glances around, leans his head on his hand, elbow on the desk. "There was just no evidence of anyone having been with him anyway. Kyle had no bruises on him that might have indicated any fighting, his wallet was in his pocket, he was clean. And the only half-assed theory I had that involved someone else didn't include Eric Cartman."

Ike glances at him sharply. "You suspected someone then?"

"Not seriously. It was even less plausible than the suicide theory." Yates takes his head from his hands and folds his arms over the desk. "But people talk and it's one of the things that still sometimes gets mentioned over the whole Broflovski case." He sighs, as if trying to work out the best way to word things.

"Kyle's best friends were two boys called Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick, reports say that the three were more or less inseparable. Earlier that day, Mr Marsh was playing in a football match – he was the star quarterback, that boy could have made a real career out of the game. But he got into a bad tackle that day, taken off in an ambulance. I remember it well, I was right there watching the game and that was _nasty. _Stan Marsh was the best hope the Cows ever had of winning the State Championship and most of the town were at the game, but that dogpile ended any hope of going all the way right there. Kyle and McCormick went with him to the hospital. McCormick left, but Kyle stayed awhile. Mr Marsh spent a couple hours in surgery, got out, but he was unconscious until the next day. Pain meds, general anaesthetic. Kyle was told to leave and come back in the morning. Only we know he never went back."

Yates drums his fingernails against the desk quietly. "McCormick was seen at the hospital, but he left before Kyle did, to pick up Mr Marshes things apparently. Kyle went to his place afterwards instead of home, stayed maybe two hours we were told. Then he left and went to the observation deck. Kenny McCormick was the last person to see your brother alive. There were two things wrong with his story though. First, the timing isn't right. From the time Kyle left the hospital, to getting to the McCormick's slum, spending two hours there and then _walking _to the observation deck – he didn't have the time. Forensics put Kyle as dead before he would even have been all the way there. It would have worked if he drove there, but we know Kyle didn't have a car with him that day."

Ike shakes his head. "It must just have been less time than he thought."

Yates nods. "That's the opinion. But between leaving the hospital and being interviewed by the police once Kyle had been found, McCormick had been given a damn good beating, by persons unknown. He was, pardon my French, half-way to fucking killed. He had his hood up when I talked to him, but cops notice these things. Black eyes, split lips and he moved like he was in pain. Breathing like an asthmatic. Said he'd been in a scrap with his brother, but that was a lie. Kevin McCormick was in a drunk tank in Denver that whole weekend."

Ike half-gets to his feet, leaning across the desk, eyes wide. "But then, he could have been the one who~"

"No, he couldn't." Yates stands, puts a hand on Ike's shoulder to sit him down again. "Like I said, McCormick had been in a fight, but_ Kyle _hadn't. No signs on his body, or his hands. His knuckles would have been bruised to hell if he'd done that to McCormick and they weren't. And McCormick's hands _were_ torn up. He got some licks in – just not to Kyle. Even if he'd been there with Kyle, the state he was in, he could never have gotten home without transport."

He shakes his head. "And there was no _motive_. Everyone said that Kenny McCormick thought the world of his friends, they hadn't fought, they'd been seen together _as_ friends that day. And I was the one who told McCormick what happened to Kyle." Yates's voice softens. "I've never, ever seen anything like that. It was like something inside him just – broke. You can't fake that much grief. I'm convinced he had nothing to do with it."

Yates sighs again. "Things rarely get wrapped up in a neat little package in police investigations. Yes, there's still things we don't know about that night and things we never will. Inconsistencies, questions. But that's the nature of death. Without witnesses, there's only the line that the evidence leads us in and in Kyle's case, the evidence says he was the victim of a stupid accident and we don't know why. And that's all I can tell you."

Ike nods. "It's pretty much what I was expecting, but thank you Sergeant. Can I just ask, did you tell Stan about Kyle's death too?"

"No." Yates frowns slightly, trying to remember. "I only spoke to him once afterwards. He already knew. It was just routine, there wasn't much he could have known, with him being in the hospital under sedation the whole night. He was – flat. Not emotionless, more as if he didn't dare show anything. I've seen it before, it's a coping mechanism. The person convincing themselves it's all a dream or a mistake and of course, he was still on some heavy painkillers, doped to the back teeth. He answered the questions, didn't tell me anything new and that was that. Except I was still having problems with what McCormick told me and when I asked how he and Kyle had got on, if they'd had a falling out – huh."

He smirks a little at the memory. "Let's just say it was a good thing Mr Marsh was strung to the ceiling in a cast, because I'm convinced he would have chinned me if he'd managed to get off the bed and he wasn't a small man. That was when he showed his anger... and his hurt. But his parents moved to Denver when he was transferred out of Hells Pass. They had a better physical therapy programme there I heard, and he wasn't going to play football again, but he might learn to walk without a limp."

"I guess there sure as hell wasn't anything left for him in South Park," muses Ike."One weekend and his best friend dies, another gets beaten half-way to hell and some out of town thugs ruin his chances of going pro."

Yates gives him a startled look. "Out of town thugs? It wasn't the_ other_ team who busted Mr Marshes leg. There was some kind of confusion on the field and he was smashed by three guys at once, all playing for the Cows."

Ike's eyes widen. "His own team? What happened? Didn't they get into trouble for it?"

"The three involved were cut from the team." Yates shrugs. "No big loss really, none of them were good enough to go pro, college football perhaps. And the Cows weren't going to be able to cut it without Marsh, so it wasn't going to make a difference to the team as a whole. I had fifty bucks riding on that game, but mostly I remember it because of what happened after, your brothers case and because of Marsh getting creamed. But even before he got hit, the game was going down the fucking pan. No one could get the ball to the quarterback, it was like the guy was invisible because it went in every direction but his. And then when he finally intercepted it – _whammo_!"

Yates emphasises his point by using his left fist to knock his right hand back onto the table. "A needless accident, caused by total stupidity and a team that didn't communicate well enough. Wish there'd been another way for them to learn their lesson."

Ike bites his lip, staring into the distance. "It seems to have been the weekend for accidents."

"Those three boys had a shitty run of luck," agrees Yates quietly. "But that was all it was."

For a moment Ike is quiet, then he returns his focus to Yates. "I was hoping to talk to Kenny, but he didn't answer the door earlier. Do you know if he's...?"

"Dead?" Yates shakes his head. "I haven't heard if he is, but I don't always. Far as I know, he's alive and kicking – but McCormick isn't exactly Mister Sociable. See him around sometimes, locked him up once, but I see him more often when I peel the corpse up from somewhere and send him off to the morgue. You know, with the reunion this weekend, he might just be ignoring the door altogether. I don't think he's got fond memories of Park County High."

"I thought of that." Ike worries his lower lip a little with his teeth. "Are you allowed to tell me why you locked him up?"

"Bar fight." Yates meets his eyes. "You don't see Kenny McCormick in the bar much, more his dads thing, but him and Stuart were together that night. Some things were said, accusations made and McCormick dragged the guy outside and pounded him into the ground." He raises an eyebrow, the warning clear. "Something you might want to consider before you go finding out what he has to say about things."

Ike nods slowly, thanks the officer and shakes his hand before taking his leave of the station. He had already known the bare details of Kyle's death, but there was only so much he was told back when he was a kid and not much he felt he could ask his parents about it later on; a lot of what Yates has said is new to him.

He can remember Stan's injury for himself, heard something about it the night it happened, back when he had assumed Kyle was still alive. But he does not recall the details, just Stan in a wheelchair at the funeral, the stark white of his cast contrasting with the dark clothes of everyone else. That Kenny was hurt too is not something he remembers, trying to think of the blonde on the same day he remembers only that he was hiding behind his damn overgrown hair and keeping his head bowed. It fills him with unease. Stan's injury might have been mishap but the circumstances of Kyle's death remain unknown and that Kenny was hurt too – it's a hell of a coincidence.

Could it be something to do with the reason Kyle was so far from where he should have been that night?

He stands outside the police station for a moment, looking around the street. It is as he remembers the town from the days before Kyle died, everyone going about their business, most of them knowing each other and giving a friendly greeting or occasionally, looking pointedly in another direction. Small-town fallings out. His own mother was strident and opinionated enough to have had her fair share of those, back in the day. He shoves his hands in his pockets, realising they are quite cold now he is outside, and his fingers touch the edge of the beermat he wrote Kenny's address on. Kenny was not home – but there was someone else Henrietta suggested and that person at least is unlikely to have gone anywhere.

There is a man approaching him and Ike gives him a friendly smile, asks for directions to the street where Tweek Tweak lives. The man is ungracious but his directions are clear enough and Ike thanks him and goes on his way, realising only after he has almost reached the end of the street that the reason the man seems vaguely familiar is because it is his old kindergarten teacher, Mr Garrison. He's aged a great deal and seems to have settled on the one gender, but Ike is certain it's him – _almost_ certain. Now the man is out of sight, Ike wonders if he has superimposed the teachers likeness onto a stranger with vaguely similar characteristics. As if he is expecting all his old ghosts to haunt him while he is here.

He presses on, walking down another street and passing one of the landmarks the man who might have been Garrison mentioned, the Mayors office. It was here that the major announcements were made and where most of the riots that occasionally plagued the town kicked off, where the Christmas tree was lit every year. Although Christmas was a touchy subject in the Broflovski household, Kyle took him to the switch-on every year since Ike turned five, keeping a tight grip on his little brothers hand until the year Ike deemed himself too adult for such a thing. Ike had watched the tree with anticipation, barely listening to Kyle and his friends talk. Stan would be reminiscing about past adventures and hoping for new ones, while Cartman would spew forth a seemingly endless list of things that he wanted, pausing only to rag on Kyle and Kenny; Kyle for being Jewish at Christmas and Kenny for being too poor to get good gifts. Both boys would respond with an angry _fuck you fatass_ whenever his attention fell to them. But the older boys had more or less ignored Ike and their chatter had gone over his head almost totally.

The only person outside the mayors office at that point is a small boy of maybe seven, picking solemnly at a scabbed knee and Ike moves on. Further into town, it is even more like being swallowed by his own past and he realises uneasily that his route will take him past the end of the street he grew up on. He has a morbid urge to run to the house and ring the bell, wait for the new people to emerge and bombard them with questions. Did they keep Kyle's room the same? Because his mother had, as if expecting him to return. Did they paint over the marks where his father recorded their heights every year on their birthdays? They'd been there the day the Broflovski's left for good. Did they have any idea of what secrets the two boys had shared with each other and the ones they hadn't while they had lived there? Because Ike clearly had not known them all.

He doesn't go. A house is just a house and seeing it again will do him no good. Worse, he can already tell he is leaning to melancholy and their old home will make that much more severe.

There in the distance, the bus stop they would wait at every morning so they could be taken to school; he had followed Kyle to it more than once until it was his own turn for education and he'd learned that Kyle wasn't having as much fun without him as he'd assumed. If he takes a right, he will end up at the train tracks, near where Stan and Kenny lived on opposite sides of the divide. He takes a left instead, realising that it is all coming back to him and although he has not been here for a long time, he barely needs to think about the directions that maybe-Garrison gave him. He knows how to retrace his steps to get to the sandbox where he sometimes played as a child and where, Kyle once told him, their father had gotten high, stripped to his underwear and fought nine-year-old Kenny over a pair of imaginary breasts. He knows the shortcut that will take him to the park, the dilapidated basketball court, the school. The spot beside the school, next to a field, where the Goth kids hung out with their cigarettes and their music, allowing Ike to be there with them because there was nowhere else he could stand to go. The only place in town it seemed, that Kyle had never been and Ike was not watching for his arrival.

_This town is full of ghosts,_ says Kyle and Ike nods to himself, agreeing. The ghosts of what happened back then rather than the literal ones, more real than some floating vapour. He returned to exorcise those ghosts, but he is starting to feel as if twenty-two year old Ike Broflovski, successful and independent, is the real shadow.

He thinks back to the people his brother called friends back then, people who have been hazy and unreal in his mind for a long time, but being back here and being able to see the places his memories were formed has brought them back into sharper focus. Stan Marsh, tall and handsome and completely devoted to Kyle; a peaceful animal lover who either didn't notice or didn't care about his own popularity, he played football for the love of the game and not the attention it brought. Kenny McCormick, possibly best described as a loveable pervert, perpetually scruffy, easily pleased and equally devoted to Kyle – he had quite literally died for him. And Cartman, foul mouthed and fat with a streak of genuine malice, yet it was he out of all Kyle's friends who was there for Ike at school after Kyle had died, not cloying but asking after him, looking out for him. Ike chose to believe it was out of respect for Kyle that he did so, there was certainly no other reason behind it.

And Kyle himself, pragmatic and smart and fiercely loyal to the people he loved. Always full of life and trying to solve the mysteries behind the world with his own brand of no-nonsense logic, sometimes leaping into flights of crazed fancy when he over-thought the issue too much. That night, Kyle had been at the observation deck for some unknown reason, Cartman had been at home with his fried chicken, Stan had been in the hospital still blissfully unaware his dreams of going pro had been forcefully ended and Kenny had been... where?

Ike pauses at the end of Tweek's street and takes a deep breath. Maybe Yates was right and there are no answers. Or maybe it's been long enough and people are tired of keeping their secrets. Either way, Ike intends to get every piece of information from everyone he can. Starting with the only person who knew Kyle back then that he knows where to find.


	3. Gotta Get Out

**Author Note: **Big thanks to my lovely reviewers, let's point out the obvious, solarsphere101, xxSay and Andatariel.x! And of course, to everyone who's read and alerted the story. I can't promise I'm always going to be updating this fast but honestly, I'm kind of excited to know how people will react to certain parts. We're getting into the flashback chapters now, I hope they're not horrifically intrusive, but I've always been a subscriber to the 'show, don't tell' attitude – not that I always take my own advice there. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

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_It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap, we gotta get out while we're young..._

~:~

Ike wanders down the street to the house, passing a couple of women of his parents generation although not so prematurely aged, laughing between themselves, and a younger man leaning against a car smoking a cigarette. He does not give them any attention as he walks the path to Tweek's door, wondering what he is expecting to find. Anything? Nothing? Just to pass the time with a man he doesn't think he remembers?

He knocks loudly, not knowing if the man will even speak to him. Why should he? He doesn't know if Tweek will remember his name, he isn't even sure that he and Kyle were friends.

_We were friends,_ Kyle says_. We were kids, but... he knew us. And he was cool._

"Who is it?"

The words come through the door and Ike pauses before answering. "Um, hi. My name's Ike Broflovski, I'm – oh shit. I'm here finding out about my brother Kyle and you were in his class?"

There is a pause so long that Ike believes Tweek has written him off as a nutter and gone back to daytime TV. But then he hears the lock slide back, almost imperceptibly.

"C-come in," says Tweek.

Ike pushes the door open and sees a man at the other side, taken several steps back to blend in with the shadows. The blinds are closed and it's a little hard to make him out, but Ike immediately thinks that Tweek Tweak reminds him of a blonde Edward Scissorhands. His hair sticks in those same wild spikes, he is paler than he should be and there are shadows beneath his eyes that suggest he might have last slept sometime around his fifteenth birthday. But in spite of those things, the resemblance that make Ike think of the character is something in the eyes. The way he stares as if seeing something new and frightening and possibly dangerous. And he will run if he can, hide if he is able – but if he is put into a corner, he will lash out.

Tweek gives him a shaky half-smile, tinged with suspicion. "You want coffee?"

"Please." Ike follows Tweek through to a kitchen that is the polar opposite of what the hallway has led him to believe. He had anticipated more of the same shadowy darkness but instead, the kitchen is light and airy, pale sunlight coming through sheer curtains. The outside world is still invisible, but at least the light can filter through. Tweek makes coffee, good and strong, sitting at the table and indicating for Ike to do the same.

"I don't get many _gnk_ visitor," says Tweek nervously. "My parents are working and I mean, it's not like I can go anywhere." He gives Ike an apologetic look, as if this fact is going to get him shouted at. "I'm agoraphobic."

"I heard," replies Ike, taking a sip of the coffee. "This is great."

"Coffee, I can handle," says Tweek, his apology giving way to curiosity. "Ike, why are you here? I don't get it."

Ike stares into the cup. "I'm just – trying to find out more about my brother. Come to terms with what happened to him I guess. I thought talking to his old friends might help me know more about him." He shrugs. "Probably dumb, but it's all I could think of to do."

Tweek nods. "I don't know how _gnk_ dumb or not it is, but at least you're doing _ack_ something." There is something in his eyes that Ike cannot place, maybe mild jealousy that Ike can tackle his demons head-on, while Tweek remains hidden indoors. "I'll help you if I can GAH! But me and Kyle weren't really close friends or anything."

"I know, but there aren't that many of Kyle's close friends in town." Ike smirks. "Just Kenny McCormick and I haven't been able to get hold of him yet."

"Kenny sees about as many people as I do," replies Tweek, shaking slightly. "That's what I _gnnn_ hear anyway. He's a recluse by choice."

"Well..." Ike sighs. "I need to talk to him at some point. But for now – maybe you can help me out?"

Tweek holds his coffee by his lips while he thinks. "When I first – well, the morning I woke up and found I physically GAH! Couldn't walk out of the door, I was scared to death. I didn't get it and I guess I still don't. My friends still came over to see me when they were still here, before they all went off to college and got a life..." He stares into the mid-distance, expression wistful. "But most people didn't bother. Kyle did though, a few times."

"He did?" Ike blinks, Kyle never mentioned this back then.

"Not often." Tweek puts the cup on the table. "But yeah, sometimes. He'd bring library books. Stuff about agoraphobia, how to deal with it, possible ways to combat it, self-help tricks. None of it worked for me. But _ack_ I appreciated him trying. A lot of people just forgot I was here. And y'know, Kyle was dealing with some of _gnk_ his own shit, I suppose."

Ike leans forward slightly. "What kind of shit? Just the normal teenage stuff, or something more specific?"

"Both." Tweek gives Ike a slight smile but his brow is creased, as if trying to decide what to say. "I'm not – ACK – I don't know if I should say..." His hands go into his hair and tug lightly. "Shit, this is so much _pressure_..."

Ike leans a hand across the table and touches Tweek's arm. Tweek's tics initially alarmed him a little, but now he is finding they make it easier for him to place the man in his memory and remembers them as nothing to be concerned about. "No pressure, honest. I'd like to know though and whatever you say can't hurt Kyle now, can it?"

"It's not Kyle I was thinking of," replies Tweek. "It's Stan."

"Stan?" Ike shakes his head in confusion. "I don't get it. And he's not here either. Look, I can keep a secret but – if this is something I should know, then please Tweek, please. Tell me."

Tweek looks for a moment as if he will stubbornly refuse, then abruptly sighs. "Did you ever go to Park County High?"

Ike nods. "Only for part of the first year, I was skipped ahead a ton of times so I was the youngest kid in school."

"Thought I _ack_ remembered that. How did you find it?"

Ike has to struggle to remember, although his recall is usually excellent. His memories of that year are tinged through with Kyle's death and he knows that after that, he was whispered about, stared at, avoided uncomfortably. He was miserable. But before that, school had been – well, similar actually. He had not been accepted because of his youth, whispered about and stared at for a whole different reason. But much as he hadn't liked it, he had been better off than he had been after.

_Oh, come on_ says Kyle. _You were harassed to hell, genius Jew. It might have gotten worse later, but it was pretty fucking bad to start with. Could have been worse if it hadn't been for your big brother being around. Don't you remember how much you were dreading your second year? When you assumed I'd be in college and unable to look out for you?_

"It was pretty rough," admits Ike.

Tweek gives a short laugh. "For me too. The way the school was, most of the kids were from North Park and there was some turf rivalry _ack_ always going on. That place was a fucking shark tank. I wasn't real good at dealing with it, but when they found out – it got worse."

"Found out what?"

Tweek refuses to meet his eyes. "That I was gay. It was so stupid how they found out and it went all the way around the school in a day. The South Park kids didn't much care, or most of them said they didn't. Clyde, he was a shit about it and that hurt like hell, because we'd been friends since pre-K. But he'd been acting like a shit since we got to High school, GAH! I shouldn't have been _gnnnk_ surprised. But the others... GAH oh _Jesus_ they were bad. I got so scared and sick about going to school and one day..." He indicates to the space around him. "I just couldn't leave the house. No way."

The blonde plays with his fingers nervously, still not looking up. His entire demeanour reminds Ike of a far younger man, expecting scorn. He tries to meet Tweek's eyes, but they are darting nervously and it's impossible. "I'm not bothered about you being into guys Tweek, don't look so worried. I'm gay too."

Tweek looks back at him gravely. "You're not my type."

Ike gives a snort of laughter and Tweek manages a small grin. Ike gets the feeling that given the right set of circumstances, Tweek might have got over his fears and wonders why no one has been there to give him that help. Are his parents so selfish that they would rather have him with them and trapped in this half-life than get him some kind of professional help?

"I just said because you look like I'm about to start throwing shit at you." Ike shakes his head, his smile leaving. He never was very good at revealing his sexuality to people, always picking the wrong person, the wrong circumstance, an inappropriate moment. But he wanted more to reassure Tweek that he wasn't bothered about any of that and it seemed to work, so at least the awkwardness has served its purpose. "I don't wanna sound heartless, but what does that have to do with Kyle?"

Tweek shrugs, eyeing Ike carefully. "One time, Kyle came over with Stan. Stan was someone else who came over occasionally, even though _ack_ he was one of the – well, the _popular_ kids. Not like the rest of them though. He was GAH! He was nice, not mean. Didn't seem to care if something he did wasn't _ack_ wasn't acceptable. And he'd try to talk me through it, say he'd keep an eye out for me if I _gnnn_ went back to school." Tweek is shaking at the thought, although he is a long way past ever having to return.

_Tweek unlocks the front door and backs away so he does not get an accidental glimpse of the outside world. The psychiatrist says that some agoraphobics are able to look through the windows, observe what is going on, but Tweek can't. Any sight of the world outside the window fills him with a sense of longing and wistfulness, at the same time the very _vastness_ fills him with crawling fear. Anything could be out there. Anything at all. _

_Kyle has already texted to say he is on his way, wanting to pick up some of the library books that he left for Tweek a couple of weeks previously. He is used to Tweek's neurosis about seeing through the door and there is a slight pause before he enters the house, sending Tweek a grin that Tweek has to respond to. Kyle seems exceptionally happy that day – and when Stan Marsh enters the house behind Kyle, Tweek is not surprised. Kyle always seems brighter when his friends are around, with the exception of Cartman._

"_H-hey," says Tweek, leading them through to the kitchen. It is the place where he is the closest to sunlight and consequently where he spends a lot of his time. A part of what makes his fear so maddeningly irrational is that he misses the outdoors, the wind on his face, the sunshine, even the snow – but whenever these things are not just memory, they send him running back for the house, literally vomiting in terror. _

"_Hey Tweek," says Kyle and Stan echoes the sentiment with a smile. Stan is either not as good an actor as Kyle or he sympathises more, because there is pity clear in his eyes. Tweek both appreciates and resents it. He is infuriated with himself because he can't understand his own fear._

"_Did the books help any?" asks Kyle hopefully. If Stan is the one to sympathise with Tweek's problem, then Kyle is the one to tackle it practically. Stan looks for the root cause, Kyle wants to deal with the immediate problem. If Kenny were with them, the blonde would be advocating him to ignore his fear and just get on with it. None of the approaches have worked so far and Kyle's books have been of no real help, saying much the same things as the ones he has read before and the psychiatrists that have paid him home visits – there are no other kind for an agoraphobic._

"_S-sure," lies Tweek. He is grateful for their attempts to help him, almost pathetically happy to see people. All he wants is to be normal though and it is this that he thinks people don't understand. They think he is choosing to give in to his fear and refuse to face the world, when in reality there is nothing Tweek would like more. The symptoms of standing on the doorstep are not just mental though, they are physical too and it is hard for him to control his mind when his body shakes and his stomach revolts. _

"_You want coffee?" he asks them, going over to the counter, which is spotless. Tweek might not be able to control how he feels, but inside the fortress of his home, he can exert some influence over his surroundings. _

"_We can't stop," says Stan as Kyle grabs the books from the counter. "Kenny just came back today. We're gonna go over and see him. He gets a bit uh, bummed after he's been gone."_

_Tweek recognises the euphemisms they use, he has heard them all his life. Kenny has come back not from holiday, but from death. And although Tweek would not say he has seen Kenny bummed, the man is usually distant and distracted following one of his mortality incidents. Perhaps he saves those emotions for when he is alone with his real friends. _

"_Say hi to him for me," says Tweek, a bit wistfully, he did not even known that Kenny has been dead. Not that Kenny dying is anything new of course, but Kenny is someone else who stops by on occasion, usually for only a couple of minutes, as if checking that Tweek is still alive. _

"_This one sounded like it had some good ideas," says Kyle, picking up the top book and waving it slightly before adding it to the pile. "Was it any use?"_

"_It said _ack_ to take small steps," says Tweek, not having the heart to tell Kyle it was simply more of the same thing he has heard countless times before, written by someone more used to dealing with rich, neurotic housewives than gay teenage boys. "I'm g-gonna give it a try." And he will too, although he is already certain it will not help. He knows some people would say it is the fatalistic attitude that defeats him before he even begins, but experience has taught him that when his hopes are raised, it is always for nothing. _

"_Cool." Kyle grins at Tweek again. "We gotta go. See you soon, I'm gonna see if I can harass the librarian to get some more books in. There's a DVD in the Denver library, I'm trying to talk her into getting a loan on it."_

"_Thanks," says Tweek, slightly embarrassed but pleased that Kyle is doing this for him, there is no need at all to go to these lengths. If asked, Kyle would probably say that it is no big deal and to him it might not be, barely even needing him to go out of his way – but to Tweek, it means a lot. It means he has not been forgotten and left to rot away in this house._

"_See you soon," says Stan as the pair of them go through the front door and leave Tweek all alone. He sighs a little, it would have been nice if they could have stayed longer but that they were there at all is a bonus. He is under no illusions about where he stands on the scale of importance for most people. And what would they talk about? They would not want to talk about school because of what had happened to him and he could discuss nothing but treatments and daytime TV. _

_Unless he does what he has said he will and starts facing his fear._

_The smallest step, the book said, was to face the world from the fortress. To look at the outside through a protective shield. In other words, to take a peek through the window and know that he is safe, that nothing can happen to him. He can focus on the ground, on a plant, try to keep his mind blank – but the simple act of doing that will make it easier the next time and perhaps boost his confidence, so that he knows he can do it._

_He goes into the living room, his stomach already knotting, sweat forming on his brow. He cannot believe the struggle he has to go through merely to get to the window, with every step his muscles seem to gain weight until he walks sluggishly, shaking harder than ever. Had he been able to see himself, he would think he looks like he is in the throes of some fever. But he is not thinking of that. He is having himself a daydream that is all that prevents him simply giving up and hiding. In his daydream, he looks through the window. Kyle and Stan are at Stan's elderly car, standing by the doors but not inside yet, talking about something over the roof. Then Kyle looks at the window and he says something to Stan, Stan turns to look and they both give him wide smiles. Because they recognise that he has achieved something major by simply pulling back the curtain._

_This dream is mild compared to some of those he indulges in when he is safely away from seeing the outdoors – his most visited is the one where he simply tears open the front door and runs all the way to Craig's house, jumping up and down and shouting about how he DID it and seeing the pride in Craig's face – but it is close enough to reality to be the spur he needs to get to the window. His trembling hand rests on the curtain and for a moment, he hesitates. Can he really do this, knowing how it has always gone since the first time he realised he was simply trapped here?  
_

_He takes a deep breath and his knuckles go white as he grips the fabric, twitching the curtain aside and looking out._

_Vertigo overtakes him and he reels, almost fleeing. The small street on which he lives seems to have expanded to a vast area, alien and terrifying. He turns cold, feeling his clothes start sticking to his body with sweat. But he forces himself to stay, even though he is sure he will either throw up or faint any moment._

Focus on something familiar_, the book had said. Thinking of the book makes him glance at Stan's car parked in the driveway. Stan is in the drivers seat already, unlike his daydream. Kyle is slamming the back door, presumably he has put the books there ready to return. He opens the passenger door and slides in, giving Stan a smile. Something about that smile makes Tweek pause, not exactly forgetting his fear, but giving his mind something else to focus on instead. _

_Stan turns his head to say something to Kyle and Kyle leans across, quick as a flash and presses his lips to Stan's. It is fleeting and over within seconds, Kyle leaning back again with a mischievous, yet affectionate smile. Even from this distance, Tweek can see the light in his eyes. And he can read Stan's body language in spite of being able to see nothing of his face, the boy is clearly not upset or tense over the incident. It is an unexpected moment, the gesture is anything but._

Good luck you guys_, thinks Tweek without bitterness – he is happy for them, he can see from Kyle's face that the redhead is head over heels for the star quarterback. He is afraid for them though, blackly terrified. A part of it is the window, the world they are about to drive off into to face the consequences, some of it is the memory of what he went through. Those memories add to his barely-contained urge to run and suddenly, he can take no more of seeing what lies outside his walls, what his friends are heading into._

_He drops the curtain and bolts for the kitchen and the sink, getting only as far as the hall before he doubles over and vomits across the carpet. He leans a hand on the wall and sinks to his knees, still emptying his stomach, dimly aware that he will have to clean up before his mother returns – she will be disappointed, she has told him repeatedly that he does not need to push himself too far – but more concerned with easing his shakes, regaining control of his terror. He is horribly aware of the door behind him, the only thing that is keeping the outside out. His spasms fading, he leans against the wall and wraps his arms around his knees, feeling faint and dizzy and thinking he would do anything to be over this, anything at all, anything. He is no longer thinking of Kyle or Stan, his eyes are firmly locked on the door and he suspects he will not be trying this experiment again any time soon. And although he does not know it, that final view of the kiss between the two boys will be the last time he sees either of them._

Ike tries to process what he has heard. Obviously he remembers the pair being close, but even back then, he didn't suspect this. "Kyle and Stan were _dating_?"

"I guess." Tweek laughs a little. "I never told a soul until now. I didn't want them to go through what I did, so I kept quiet until they were ready to come out – if they ever were. And then Kyle died and Stan left and there didn't seem to be any point. Not that I had anyone to tell. So... there it is. Not proof _gnk_ but I know that's what was going on."

Ike sits, trying to remember if there is anything that might have triggered suspicion back then. He can think of very little. Stan and Kyle were always close, but by the time Kyle died that was just a part of life. But then, had they been _too_ close for just friends? Certainly Ike has never had a friendship, or a relationship for that matter, that was anything like what Kyle and Stan had.

"Are you pissed?" asks Tweek quietly.

"Huh?" Ike looks up, shakes his head. "No. It doesn't bother me – it shouldn't, considering." He chuckles a little. "I just don't believe I didn't know."

"I can believe it. You were just a little kid and I bet they were careful. Really careful. It didn't matter that Stan was the star player and Kyle was kinda popular himself – that would have meant shit if this'd come out." Tweek frowns. "Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered for them. All I know was that it made life hell for me. So _gnk_ I'm biased. I thought they were waiting until after they left school. Things would be different then maybe."

"Only Kyle never got out of school," says Ike, then grimaces.

"No," agrees Tweek sadly. "He didn't. So I guess we'll never know."


	4. Heaven Can Wait

**Author Note: **Again, my huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Dretastic, xxSay, Andatariel.x, Notebook Chen, angelswillfall and let's point out the obvious! I'm really glad you all liked it, I'm just glad Tweek's agoraphobia came off as realistic.

I have a feeling this is where the lynching's gonna start. All I can say in my defence is, there's still an awful lot at this point of the story that's not been revealed yet – so please put down the flaming torches and the noose? Pretty please?

~:~

_Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies..._

~:~

By the time Ike leaves Tweek's house, he is both confused and slightly depressed. Depressed because the blonde he has just spoken to seems so _alone_. Even if he lives with his parents, they are just about the only people he has spoken to in over ten years, save for the faceless masses on the internet. Somebody should do something to give him more help than he has had – but Ike doesn't know who that person could be. And he feels hypocritical for caring at all; he knows he will not be the person lending Tweek that support, he will not be around long enough for that – and as Tweek might have said, he has his own shit to deal with.

Namely, Tweek's allegations about Kyle and Stan.

Ike does not find it hard to believe that Kyle might have been gay. He _is_ slightly surprised that Kyle would not just come out and say so; his brother was never concerned about the slings and arrows that might head his way for being different. Then again, there is another person in the picture to consider and maybe Kyle did not want to damage Stan's reputation, or his future. Homophobic prejudice might be illegal but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist and Ike wonders if the hyper-masculine world of professional sports might have shunned Stan for his relationship with Kyle. Maybe, maybe not, but that fear almost certainly would have existed. And high school, as Tweek has proven, is notoriously insular and bigoted. Neither of them needed that kind of grief and although Kyle would not deny Stan or back down from bullies, it would make their lives easier if they just didn't have to contend with it.

It occurs to him that the young man he saw earlier smoking cigarettes is still there, a cancer stick between his fingers – presumably a new one, since Ike has been in the house more than an hour. The man can see Tweek's place from where he stands and Ike wonders what his purpose for being there is. The smoker is of about the same age as Tweek, but taller and clearly in better health, hair so dark as to be almost black. When he exhales smoke, the cold air clouds his breath as well in an impressive stream.

Ike knows he should probably let it go, but he feels oddly protective of Tweek, who is so obviously fragile. He draws level with the man and stops, wondering if he knows him but not recognising him. "Can I help you with something?"

The man's direct brown eyes meet Ike's, superficially bored, watchful beneath. He crushes the cigarette beneath his boot before speaking. "Just looking up some old ghosts. How's Tweek doing?"

So, the man _is_ watching the house. "Why don't you go and ask him?" Ike challenges.

"I'm uh, waiting for him to come out." The man tries not to look self-conscious, loses the battle. "Sort of accidentally run into him."

"You'll have a long wait," says Ike with more sharpness in his voice than he intends. "He doesn't leave the house. Ever."

"_Still?"_ The man stares back at Ike, seemingly lost. "But, it's been – it's been _years_..."

"Ten of them." Ike narrows his eyes at the stranger, wondering why he should care. "Who are you?"

"My name's Craig, I was at school with Tweek until he left. I'm back for the reunion." He laughs in that _I don't believe I'm doing it though _way that makes Ike think the reunion is the excuse and not the reason. "Are you and Tweek uh, friends?"

"Not in that way, if that's what you mean." Ike has been hit with too many revelations that day to baby around some guy he doesn't recall – although now he has a name, he thinks he might do. Although Kyle and Craig never really hung around together, they were passing acquaintances and Ike vaguely recalls Craig as a typically bored teenager with a monosyllabic method of speech. And Craig clearly does not recognise him at all.

"I thought I'd visit him while I was in town for the reunion myself," says Ike, feeling a little childish or wicked, because there is no need for him to be pushing Craig's buttons, yet he is wilfully doing so anyway.

"Yeah?" Craig gives him a thoughtful look, still coming up a blank. "Were you in our class? I don't remember you."

"My brother was," Ike replies, watching carefully. "I'm Ike Broflovski."

He should be used to the expression now, he thinks, but he isn't. It's the same on everyone, the sudden recognition, remembrance and shock, the way they become immediately guarded and careful. Craig is no exception to this, although he hides it better than some.

"Kyle's little bro," he says with a nod. "I was sorry as hell about what happened to him. He wasn't a close friend but I knew him and he was a pretty cool guy."

It's honest and Ike feels slight shame at wanting to cause Craig discomfort. "Thanks," he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and deciding he might as well tell all of it. After all, Craig knew Kyle and might have something that will help Ike. "Kyle's the reason I'm here actually. I'm just trying to get to know him a bit better and he lived and died in this town, so..." He shrugs, feeling stupid because this man is still a stranger and explaining it to him is hard.

But if Craig finds it odd that he would explain this, he gives no sign. "Did Tweek tell you what you wanted to know then?"

"Some stuff." He hesitates, then plunges ahead. Perhaps Craig can add to what Tweek has already said. "He said Kyle might have been seeing someone when he died. A guy."

Craig looks mildly surprised. "Tweek knew about that?"

"Wait, did you?" Ike stares back at Craig, he had not expected him to know anything but perhaps Tweek has merely assumed it was a secret. It's not as if the blonde talked to many people after all, even back then.

"I knew." Craig takes out another cigarette, lights it. "I didn't think anyone else did though. I kept it to myself, I mean, I saw what happened to Tweek." He blows out smoke, almost angrily. "There should have been more I could do for him, but at least I could keep it from happening to them too. So I kept my mouth shut. It was only chance that I saw anything anyway. I was going for a smoke and there they were." Craig chuckles. "I thought he was just glad he was back until he squeezed a cheek. So I backed up and went somewhere else."

Craig leans against the car again, resting his foot against the machine. Ike hopes that it is his own vehicle, or the owner will be pissed. "Out of all the guys in school who'd turn out to be gay, that surprised me the most. I mean, he was so obsessed with tits."

Ike frowns. "Kyle was obsessed with tits? I don't remember that?"

"Like he'd tell baby brother that. But no, not Kyle."

_Craig Tucker considers himself one of life's natural smokers. Some people are just predisposed to the habit and he is one of them. A part of him blames Cartman's constant jibes at his fucked-up teeth when he was younger, his adult teeth grew in crooked and by the time they had readjusted themselves, he was already self-conscious about them. He had gotten into the habit of covering his mouth a lot, when he laughed or yawned, rarely smiling wide enough to show his teeth. Smoking is a natural extension of that, a reason for his hand to be at his mouth and hiding whatever might show as he opens it. And of course, the nicotine stains along with the discolouration from the coffee he drinks all the time while he is visiting with Tweek has made him even more aware of the issue._

_The situation with Tweek in the last few months has caused him to change his smoking habits. At one point, he was getting through maybe a pack a week, usually when he was hanging out with his friends and looking rebellious and cool. He'd wanted the cigarettes but not needed them. Recently, tension seems to swirl around him like the smoke from the damn things and he used the need for a cigarette to cover that he really needed a break to clear his head. He would have a cigarette at the same time though and that was how he found himself totally addicted and more often than not, smoking in the secret space behind the dumpsters, where he was unlikely to be found. Definitely not cool._

_He is heading that way now, grimly aware that he has not smoked since he was on his way to school that morning and hating the way he has managed to choose them over something more profitable to do on his break. And that he is anxiously anticipating the first drag, the way it will taste upon his tongue, the way his lungs will fill with sweet, slow poison, the satisfaction as he breathes it back into the air. The cigarettes are like a lover that he knows is no good for him, but he is powerless to resist._

_He rounds the corner, expecting to find no one there; there are several smokers among the students but the Goth kids have their own hangout and apart from them, most of the other students are not sufficiently addicted to need a fix between morning and lunch. He anticipates having the place to himself and that is why he is a little put out when he sees not one, but two people under the eave where he tries to protect himself from the biting wind and occasional snowfall. _

_He recognises them both obviously, although he is surprised to see either of them. He hesitates momentarily, wondering if he should light up and saunter over to say hello, although he could do without one of Kyle's disapproving looks. He stays where he is though when Kyle suddenly pulls the other boy into a hug, figuring that he will wait until the moment is over before he approaches. A few seconds pass and Craig frowns. This is some long hug. He has been trying not to pay them any attention but now he looks back and notices that Kyle's hand has slid down his friends back, dangerously close to his ass. Before Craig can form an opinion about this, Kyle's hands go even lower and give both cheeks a friendly squeeze. There is a squeak and both boys start laughing, clearly unaware they are not alone. Craig feels like an intruder and tries to back silently away, urge for nicotine forgotten. _

_But he cannot resist one last look as he reaches the corner. Kyle is reaching up slightly, being pulled into a kiss. Craig widens his eyes in surprise as the two of them embrace lovingly, noticing the way Kyle's arm raises up to push off his partners hood and run his hand through unruly blonde hair. And the way Kenny's arms go around Kyle, tightening possessively, with no care as to who else might be around._

"_Kenny?_" Ike's voice sounds to himself as if it is coming from a great distance. "You saw Kyle and _Kenny_ together?"

"Well, yeah." Craig gives Ike an odd look and Ike decides he must look shell-shocked. He _feels_ shell-shocked. Kyle's homosexuality isn't an issue for him, although he's taken aback. That he might have been dating Stan is not an issue, or that he might have been seeing Kenny. What disturbs Ike is that he might have been seeing Stan _and_ Kenny. The implications crash into his mind and he needs to think them over – but not here, while he is still talking to Craig.

Trying to smile, Ike looks back to Tweek's house, then to Craig. "You should go knock," he says. "I think he'd be glad to see you."

Craig shrugs. "We fell out of touch years ago. He might not even recognise me."

"He will." Ike is sure of that, even though Tweek barely mentioned Craig. To wait outside the house of an agoraphobic one has not seen for ten years is an act of a friend and Tweek certainly needs one of those. "Go say hello. Thanks for talking to me, I'll see you around, yeah?"

"See you around Ike," echoes Craig and although he stays where he is, he eyes Tweek's house with a new thoughtfulness. Ike does not wait to see what he will do, he needs to get the hell away from there, take a walk for a while, clear his head, think this through. He strides to the end of the street and takes a corner, putting both Craig and Tweek behind him.

His mind is in turmoil. He cannot work out the time scale and wishes he had asked just _when_ Tweek saw Kyle with Stan, when Craig saw Kyle with Kenny. Although both men said that Kenny had just got back and even if it might not have been from the same death, it seems likely enough to assume that it was. The three boys were incredibly close their whole lives and Ike can recall himself that even the week before Kyle died, the three of them hanging out, laughing together, no awkwardness at all. The Friday night, the night before Kyle died, they had all slept at Kyle's house. They might have been planning the same for Saturday, although he cannot remember that much. It jars with what he has been told that day.

He is left with two options, neither of them especially good ones. The first is that Kyle had some kind of a fling with one of his two best friends, it didn't work out and he got with the other. This incident failed to damage their friendship and the three were just as close as they had always been. But Ike knows a few things about human nature and he knows that it is highly unlikely that such an occurrence would happen like that. Exes could be friends, but could they play third wheel with the new love? And would the new love accept the presence of the ex?

The second is worse; that Kyle has been in a relationship with one of them, maybe kept it a secret from the third – and then become involved with the third and kept it a secret from the second. Ike loathes the thought that his adored elder brother could have been so duplicitous, so _cold_. That he would play his two best friends like that without remorse.

_I thought you knew me better than that_ says Kyle reproachfully.

Ike thought he knew that too, but this information points to that conclusion. There is a chance that Tweek and Craig have misinterpreted what they saw and perhaps the kisses and gropes were wholly innocent. Yet he doesn't believe it. _Something_ was going on, he's convinced of it. And perhaps it is that Kyle was seeing two people at once.

But there is only so long that a person can play that game and get away with it, especially between people as close as Kenny and Stan were. And maybe Kyle had finally been discovered.

Ike thinks of Kyle lying at the foot of the observation tower, Kenny's mysterious beating that no one can explain, and grows cold.

During the entire walk back to the motel, Ike is deep in thought. He cannot reconcile what Tweek and Craig have told him with the image of his big brother, the guy who would do just about anything for his friends but certainly wouldn't mislead them either – but he will have to find a way. The chance that Kyle led both Stan and Kenny on unnerves him and tarnishes what he remembers of his brother. That he had secrets is certain – he was a seventeen year old boy and certainly didn't tell either his parents or his little brother everything – but he _can't_ believe that Kyle would be a cheat. It goes against everything he knows about his brothers personality. Kyle was always honest and forthright and if he did keep secrets, they were not the kind that would hurt people. Kyle was simply not duplicitous.

_But how well do you ever really know anyone? _Kyle's voice is in his head, as it always is. Ike frowns. Kyle can play Devils Advocate all he wants, but Ike knows better and he does not need his subconscious speaking in his dead brothers voice to remind him of that.

Henrietta is still behind the desk when he gets back, but there are two children in the reception area as well, sitting far more quietly than Ike would have thought. One is maybe eight, the other a year or two younger and although they sit in relative calm, they are also indulging in a kick-fight. Ike smirks, in spite of his turmoil. In spite of their black clothes and solemn looks, they are still engaged in the age-old combat that siblings always partake in. Ike notices how alike they look, both of them with black hair that would be a damn sight longer than it already is, if not for the tight curls. Henrietta never said, but he suspects he knows who their father is.

She glances up at him from her spot and gives him that slight smile that seems to pass as friendliness for her. "Hey. I was hoping you'd be back before I left. Keiran's gonna pick us up, thought you might want to say hi."

Only a couple of hours ago, Ike would very much have liked to say hi to Keiran after all this time. After Kyle died, Keiran was the only one of his friends who ever bothered to keep up with him. Filmore, who was supposed to be his best friend, had taken to avoiding him as much as possible, either not knowing what to say or how to react, or possibly thinking that dead relatives were catching. Ike had understood and not brought himself to care much – but Keiran had gone on behaving as if things were normal. There had been one occasion, not long before the Broflovski's had left town, when Ike had not even realised he was thinking about Kyle until he burst into sudden, violent tears. Keiran had said nothing, merely given Ike space. When his tears were almost dried up, Keiran's arm had gone around his shoulders in a rough hug, the message seeming to be not that everything was fine, but that it was acceptable to be broken up about it. Once the tears were gone, Keiran had handed Ike one of his cigarettes and never said a word about the incident. And somehow, it had made Ike feel okay about not being okay.

But he is so far beyond confusion that right now, he would prefer to not have any more old ghosts rattling their chains until he has a chance to examine the ones he has found. However, good manners disallow him from sloping off before Keiran shows up, so he makes small talk with Henrietta for a few minutes before a new arrival walks through the door. Both the kids leap to their feet and fling themselves at him and Ike turns, suddenly apprehensive. The last time he saw Keiran, they weren't even teenagers and time has not been kind to some of the people he has met since his return. He would hate for his memories of Keiran to be tainted by the reality of who he is now.

Keiran has not grown up the way Ike expected him to. He had thought that the skinny, pale twelve year old he had known would grow into a skinny, pale adult. Instead, somewhere along the line Keiran has taken up working out and although he is not overly-muscled, there are definitely signs of good muscle tone on his bare arms and he is trim rather than skinny. Those exposed arms are covered in tribal tattoos, from wrist to shoulder, the occasional flash of colour adorning the blue and black markings. Another peeks from the right side of the neck of his shirt. His hair is still dyed black and is possibly supposed to be emo-style with a long straight fringe, but it has not stayed that way, clearly Keiran runs his hands through his hair a lot and it sticks in peaks and spikes that make Ike want to smile. There is a single hoop through the corner of Keiran's lip, a bar through his eyebrow, an abundance of steel in both ears.

Ike contrasts himself with Keiran, takes into account his lanky body, skin that is not naturally pale but heading that way thanks to too much time working and not enough in the world, his overgrown hair that is typically brushed by raking his hands through it. He has no tattoos or exotic piercings, his only adornment are the stylish black-rimmed glasses that he typically wears.

Keiran catches the older child as he leaps, the younger one a moment later, giving them a genuine smile before setting them to their feet. "You're getting to old for that shit," he says to them, seeing Henrietta's disapproving look and smiling sheepishly.

"Warm day is it?" she asks, looking pointedly at his bare arms. The sarcasm is tangible; the snow still lies on the ground.

"Heater's broke," replies Keiran, giving Ike a casual look before his eyes go back to Henrietta. "Been on full blast since Denver. I feel like I've been in a sauna..." His eyes go back to Ike and Ike can practically see him trying to figure out the mystery before recognition lights his eyes. "Holy shit, no way! Ike Broflovski?"

"Hey Keiran," says Ike mildly, although he is more nervous than he shows. Keiran was not his brothers friend, he was _Ike's_ friend and for the first time, Ike is concerned about what opinion the man might form about him. He can see Keiran's eyes sweeping over him and back to his face, taking in the expensive jeans and shirt, his lanky form and outgrown hair. Appearance is rarely paramount to Ike and suddenly, he wishes that it was.

"Fuck." Keiran takes Ike's hand and shakes it, his free hand resting against Ike's shoulder. The gesture is simultaneously welcoming and friendly and Ike feels absurdly grateful to have been accepted by the other yet again. "It's been forever Ike. What brings you back to this shit-hole?"

"Kyle," Ike blurts out, although he did not mean to impart this information, at least in this way. It sounds weak, clingy, as if there has been nothing between then and now but what was left behind in South Park. "I mean, I came back because I needed to know..." He sighs. "It's complicated."

Keiran nods, his tongue darting out to play with the ring through the corner of his lip. In spite of his inner turmoil, Ike cannot help but be fascinated by the gesture. Keiran is so different to what he expected, but the ghost of the child he was is still stamped on his face. Mostly in those eyes, although Ike's sudden reappearance has temporarily blown away the layer of jaded cynicism that was a staple back then.

"How's it going so far?" Keiran asks, rather than looking for explanations as to why Ike would bother after all this time. This is another thing Ike remembers about him and something that all the Goths seemed to share; not the lack of interest so much as the recognition that further details may or may not be given and in the meantime, it is not his business to ask for them.

"It's going..." Ike trails off, looking back at Henrietta and then to Keiran once more. "It's going pretty weird. It's not like I thought it'd be."

"Very little is," replies Keiran with a wry smile that seems far more at home on his face then that expression of unexpected happiness he wore earlier. Ike wonders if Keiran has realised his own thoughts about how the other has changed, or if perhaps Keiran sees a difference in Ike that Ike is too used to seeing to truly notice.

An elderly man walks into the reception area and Henrietta rises from her seat, seeming irritated but unsurprised. "Nice of you to show up Malcolm," she says, vacating the desk so that the man can slide in instead, pretending not to notice as his eyes go immediately to her breasts and stay there. "I gotta get the kids home Keiran."

"Right." But Keiran seems reluctant to leave and hesitates a moment. "Ike? You wanna catch up later on, grab a beer? I might be able to help you out finding people."

Ike is nodding before he even realises he is going to accept. Socialising was not on the agenda that evening, he had planned to seek out his brothers other classmates that might have remained in town... specifically, Kenny McCormick. But Kenny seems to not want to be found and Keiran could help – and Ike needs a friend, someone who he can talk to about what may or may not have happened back then, someone who will understand.

And he can't deny that he wants to find out more about Keiran too. What happened to him in the years between and what made him stay for so long, when so many of the towns children fled, never to return.

"There's a bar over the street," Ike says, thinking that it is close enough to the motel so he doesn't have to go far and a place he already knows, thanks to his earlier lunch with Henrietta. "Is there okay?"

"Sure. About nine?"

Ike agrees, thinking that nine is a bit later than he would have expected but clearly Keiran has just finished working and driven a long way home. He probably needs time to relax and get his affairs in order before he does anything. And Ike could also do with the break. His head is whirling with the implications of what he has learned.

Keiran leaves with Henrietta and the children and Ike goes to his room, spending a while lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. His mind is entrenched in the past, going over the last few months of Kyle's life. The two of them were close, but they still had separate lives; Ike had his own things going on and no reason to believe that Kyle wouldn't be around forever. He had noticed that Kyle seemed more secretive, or thinks he noticed it, yet also seemed happier. He can recall that Kyle seemed less ready to get into the traditional screaming fights with their mother that had punctuated the redheads awkward teenage years. Ike had put all of this down to Kyle maturing and the looming prospect of college and freedom. But Kyle never made it to college.

He thinks back to the funeral, a memory he refuses to visit most of the time. The Rabbi giving the service at the graveside, his parents stunned and still. His mother especially seemed to be holding herself together through the sheer force of her iron will, refusing to break down in front of all these people. His father, red-eyed and bewildered. Ike had been something less than a disinterested spectator at the time, he barely heard the words of the Rabbi, acting entirely on autopilot. He had kept expecting Kyle to suddenly pop up and announce it had all been a mistake – these things happened in South Park after all, a look to the boy on his left would have reminded him that in this town, dead is not always forever. More than that though, he expected to wake up. By the time the funeral was half-over, there was a feeling expanding in his stomach, a knowledge or acceptance. This was real, this was really happening and that feeling of unreality was slowly dissolving, leaving behind dawning horror. Because it was real and it was permanent.

_Hold it together a little while longer_ Kyle had said, the voice seeming so real that Ike turned his head to see if his brother was behind him, wearing his own suit, trying not to stuff his hands in his pockets because it drove their mother crazy. It was the first time he heard his own mind speaking in Kyle's voice and ever since then, his decisions are made only after consulting it.

Ike rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, the memory of that day still enough to strike deep sorrow into him, even after all this time. He tries to remember more in spite of that, who else was there. A good portion of Kyle's class, friends and acquaintances alike. Ike recalls Bebe Stevens, who until today he had always assumed Kyle had rather fancied – certainly they had dated once or twice – beautiful in spite of her dark clothes and shades, the weird twisted look on her face. She was standing a little apart from the others in her class, perhaps because she ran with a different crowd than had attended the funeral. Most of the others there were the ones who had known Kyle since pre-K, the ones he had shared a class with his whole school life. And most of them were sending sharp looks at the three boys a definite distance from everyone else. Kyle's long-time best friends.

Eric Cartman was solemn, dry-eyed. His eyes remained on the coffin the entire time, almost studying it. He said very little throughout from what Ike remembers, merely watched Kyle get buried and went home. But he did spare a few minutes to speak in a hushed tone with his friends afterwards, about what Ike doesn't know.

Kenny McCormick had been standing, wearing a grey suit that didn't fit so well. Ike remembers thinking that he had to borrow it off someone, because he has never seen it before and Kenny has worn the same suit to every event for the last eighteen months, unlikely he'd buy a new one for a funeral. As he'd once said within Ike's hearing, the dead don't give a shit about the clothes the mourners wear. He was silent, head bowed, long strands of hair deliberately brushed down over his face. It made seeing his eyes almost impossible and Ike didn't look closely enough to imagine it was anything more than trying to hide evidence of his tears. He can however recall the healing lip and that he never could raise enough interest to care what might have caused it.

Stan had been seated. He was not supposed to leave the hospital for any reason Ike seems to recall, but refused point blank to not attend. He arrived in a wheelchair pushed by his father, as much a spectacle as the grave itself. Stan had worn the vacant expression of a man who has seen too much, who wants nothing more than to escape into the sanctuary of disbelief. Ike suspected at the time that he looked like that too – but he was unable to spare much pity for Stan Marsh either. He needed it for himself.

One thing he does remember is that Kenny never once left Stan's side. The entire day, Kenny was there to comfort Stan and although neither of them seemed to say much, while Ike was watching at least, they seemed to be trying to draw some kind of strength from each other. Not the behaviour of a pair of love rivals, that was certain.

The funeral was the last time that Ike saw Stan. He knows from what he heard around town and from the police that Stan was in the hospital rehabbing for a long time, transferred from Hells Pass to Denver at some point and his parents had moved house and Randy had transferred offices so that he could be closer to the physical therapy unit once he was allowed out. Ike wonders to himself how much it helped. As far as he is concerned, Stan is in the wind and he has no idea how to find him without the usual social networking pages, of which Stan doesn't appear to be a part.

And so far, no word from Kenny.

Abruptly, Ike decides he needs a break. He can't keep on doing this to himself, covering the same ground over and over when he only has scant information and no proof at all. He is just hurting himself by doing so, driving himself slowly out of his mind. Instead, he takes a quick shower, unimpressed at the weak spray and barely-hot water, then dresses quickly. Almost unconsciously, he chooses black jeans and grey top, sombre clothes for drinking with his old friend. He will be almost an hour early he realises, but he finds that he doesn't care. He will take a paperback, perhaps scope out the scene and hopefully, become distracted from his thoughts by being alone in company.


	5. Something To Hide

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to let's point out the obvious, xxSay, NotebookChen, Harry Lvr and Andatariel.x! I'm so glad that everyone was pleased to see Craig (I love Craig) and Kindergoth – although he's absent until the next chapter, he'll be around later!

Anyone who read my story Possessions might recognise the name of the OC who gets mentioned here – I tend to use background characters more than once through sheer laziness. I needed some other students to be in the story too, you can't have a school with only a few kids in it, so he got nominated. And just as in the last chapter, I'm anticipating that there might yet be a lynching... um, love you guys, don't hurt me?

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_You've always got something to hide, something you just can't tell... _

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_Brittle_ is the first word that comes to Ike's mind when he sees Bebe Stevens, completely unexpectedly, sitting at the bar. He had been early for meeting Keiran and nervously looking for the drunk he saw there earlier that day, not found him and his eyes happened upon her as he swept the area. She is trailing a finger around the rim of her glass, kicking a foot idly against the floor. It has been years, but Ike recognises the cloud of blonde curls and the knock-out figure – and yet, she seems fragile beneath her outwardly sophisticated exterior, given away by her constant nervous motions, the way she taps her fingernails on the bar and constantly shifts her position.

He hesitates a moment, then goes over and introduces himself. Usually he would not have been so forward, especially with a girl who looks like she does, the type that see his bookish exterior and dismiss him with a certain amount of disdain, an emotion that may or may not disappear upon seeing his expensive possessions, depending up on her own circumstances. But Bebe does not dismiss him. The moment he tells her his name, her face breaks out into a big smile that does not quite mask the sadness beneath it.

"Little Ike Broflovski, all grown up," she says, motioning for the barman to get her another drink and one for Ike as well. The barman does as he is bid, entranced by Bebe's attractiveness. "You've gotten so handsome. You look a lot like your brother."

Ike debates reminding Bebe that he is adopted and decides not to, although it was no secret people often forgot the fact and it has been a long time, it must have escaped Bebe's recollect too. And secretly, Ike is a little flattered to be compared to Kyle for any reason.

Bebe engages him in conversation, apparently a woman who wants to be liked or admired. She tells Ike of her new life away from South Park, her wonderful fiancé and his wonderful job, the wonderful apartment they live in. She seems slightly anxious, afraid to stop talking, as if seeking his approval – but maybe, he reflects, that is the main reason people return to their school reunions, to show the doubters and taunters of their youth that yes, they did make a success of their lives. High school tends to be where people are at their least emotionally secure and those criticisms and doubts linger.

He has to wonder just how wonderful the fiancé is when he has foregone returning to town with his wife-to-be and she is sitting alone in a bar getting blotto and dressed as she is, giving Ike mildly flirtatious glances. He scolds himself – she might just be that kind of person and he is under no illusions as to his attractiveness – although he is almost sure he is not imagining it. But then, she dated Kyle for a time before he died and has already said that Ike reminds her of him, perhaps it is the ghost of years past that influences her behaviour. And of course, it is that past rather than a genuine desire for her company that led Ike to approach her.

She finally asks how he has fared in the years between and Ike can sense her anxiety – she does not want the looming spectre of Kyle to rattle its chains. He can tell it is a subject she has no desire to revisit.

_But she'll talk, if you ask,_ says Kyle assuredly. _She starts on a subject and talks until her words run out. She already has been doing, you just need to ask the right questions. And appeal to her sense of moral obligation._

"I'm in research," says Ike, answering her question. "I don't live in South Park anymore, we moved away after Kyle died. I don't know if you remember."

Bebe gives a barely perceptible flinch at the mention of Kyle's death and Ike takes the opportunity to press the issue. "I'm back because I heard about the reunion and I knew that a lot of people that knew Kyle would be in town. I'm just trying to find out more about him, what he was like, y'know? And what he was doing in those last few weeks, right before... well, right before it happened."

"You should talk to Stan or Kenny," says Bebe promptly, then grimaces, as if the suggestion is painful. Ike blinks in confusion, he does not understand the expression at all. If she had looked sad or angry with either of them, then perhaps, but not this look of unhappy guilt. "They were – well, his friends would know better than anyone."

"I'm going to talk to them," agrees Ike, sipping at his drink and realising that Bebe has downed most of hers already. He doesn't know how many she had before they began talking, but she seems at least slightly tipsy. "The thing is, I don't know what to say for the best." He hesitates, wondering if he should tell Bebe everything and decides that yes, a shock might be the way to break through her barriers. And he has no doubt she has put them in place, she has as good as said _don't ask me questions about Kyle._

"My brother was gay," he said, watching Bebe carefully and noticing that she looks upset, but not surprised. As if she already knew. "He didn't tell his family and I don't know how many people knew, but I've heard conflicting stories. It sounds like he was seeing Stan and Kenny at the same time and about the time he died, Kenny got beaten to a pulp. I don't know if Stan found out and did something or if..."

Bebe laughs, cutting him off. Not a real laugh, no humour in it, but the kind of laugh that suggests she can't believe he is saying what he is saying. "Oh. Oh, Ike, you're so close and yet so far. Stan would never have hurt Kenny like that, and he couldn't have anyway. Kenny didn't have those bruises at the game and Stan was in the hospital after that."

Ike knew this already, but fakes a puzzled frown. "Then what the hell was going on? I mean, _was_ he seeing either of them, or has someone told me something wrong? Was he gay at all?"

Bebe stares at him through mascara rimmed blue eyes and it occurs to Ike that she truly_ is_ beautiful. Except now, her veneer of sophistication seems to have deserted her, leaving him able to see something of the teenage girl she used to be, somewhat insecure and uncertain.

Abruptly, she signals for another drink. "Screw it. You've come looking for the truth and I guess I owe it to you to tell you what I know, before you talk to the others. No, wait, I don't owe it to you. I owe it to _them_." She gives another of those harsh laughs that have no real bearing on humour. "Not that I know much. But it might explain a few things to you. I don't know what Kyle was doing out there and I don't know what happened to Kenny, although I can make a guess."

Her drink arrives and Ike opts for another beer, paying for it himself and telling the barman to keep the change. He does not want another interruption. Bebe takes a healthy swig of the drink and Ike makes a mental note to keep an eye on her while she remains, or maybe to ensure she gets a cab home.

"When I was twenty-two, the guy I'd been dating since I was nineteen asked me to marry him," she says, looking down at her drink with a small, angry smile on her face. "I accepted. And the next day, I told him what happened back then, I thought we shouldn't have any secrets. Two weeks later, he broke off the engagement, dumped me, moved on. He said he'd made a mistake, but I always wondered if it wasn't because of what I told him – if he'd got a look at the kind of person I could be and didn't like what he saw. I never told anyone else, not even my new fiancé Just in case _he_ hated me for it too."

She taps her fingernails on the side of the glass, clearly thinking of how to begin. "You don't understand what it was like for me," she says eventually. "And you probably won't. How jealous I was, how angry and I just wanted to hurt _him_, the way he was hurting me..." She shakes her head. "Wait." She takes another drink and Ike can see her already longing for a cigarette.

_Bebe Stevens is the prettiest girl in the school and she knows it. At seventeen, she is tall, clear-skinned, slim and yet blessed with amazing curves. She has passed through the fantasies of most of the boys in school at some point or another, not that most of them would ever dare to approach her in the flesh. Bebe is the kind of girl who is destined for one of the popular boys, one half of the perfect high school couple._

_Bebe however, has other ideas._

_She is an average student, prone to flashes of excellence in the subjects she truly enjoys and the occasional low mark in those she doesn't. She is given to shallowness on occasion, thinking more of status or appearance than was really necessary and yet sometimes puts them aside entirely. In other words, a typical teenage girl who just happens to look like a fashion model and like any other teenage girl, sometimes over-estimates her own importance or becomes mired in self-doubt._

_Although she has had boyfriends in the school, most notably Clyde Donovan for a short time and Mitchell Curtis for slightly longer – and what an asswipe _that_ boy was – some people find it surprising that she does not date more and speculate that she prefers older boys, who can supply her with beer or dope. Bebe has dated outside of school, but is only interested in beer and dope at parties rather than as frequent relaxation and she has no desire to become mired in a relationship with any of the losers who stay in South Park once high school has spat them out. And there is only one boy in school that she really likes – not that she has shared this secret with anyone since they entered middle school. _

_Kyle Broflovski is not the kind of boy anyone would have imagined Bebe being enamoured with. He is attractive enough, relatively popular, well thought of. But he is studious rather than sporty, philosophical rather than shallow, barely an inch taller than her. Yet it is these things that attract her, he's so different to herself and she finds his brains far more appealing than the muscles and posturing of the usual teenage crowd. And Kyle is not unattractive either, in spite of the red curls that so many mock. He has the most amazing dark eyes, a strong profile and a great ass. And secretly, she wants to be with Kyle._

_But on the occasions she has tried to act upon her interest, she has not been able to arouse his. They have been on dates, two dances and she was the one who invited him to both. He accepted graciously enough and showed her a pleasant time. After the second, he kissed her gently in the parking lot before they got into the car and Bebe thought she had died and gone to Heaven. Had Kyle taken her to a secluded area and suggested they got in the back seat, she would have been there and ready to take off her expensive dress in a heartbeat. But he didn't, just took her home and never asked her out again. She understands, or thinks she does; before each she had broken up with a boyfriend before asking him, Clyde the first time, Mitchell the second. She believes Kyle thinks he is a substitute, being used to make them jealous. It isn't true, the break-ups were both instigated so that she could ask Kyle to the dances._

_Kyle has also tutored her on occasion and she finds him patient with her, friendly, but not flirty. Perhaps, she thinks, she is too subtle. After all, Kyle has never turned her down and maybe it would be no hardship for her to do the chasing this time. She is used to men falling all over her, Kyle is a refreshing change and for him, she does not mind being the one to risk rejection. Not that she truly believes she will be rejected of course, no one has ever turned Bebe Stevens down._

_It is thinking this that finally drives her to make her move, choosing a Friday night to put her plan into action. She chooses her clothes with care, not wanting to look flighty and trampy – that would probably chase him away – but needing to look cute and hopefully quite chaste. It will be a challenge, Bebe is used to advertising although in reality there is no need to sell herself, her looks speak for themselves. She makes her way to Kyle's house in ankle boots, slim fitting jeans, a close-fitting white T-shirt and a leather jacket, timeless and casual, yet still hot. _

_When she arrives, she sees that the family car is not in the driveway, although the lights are on, and feels a slight thrill go through her. Her mind brings forth a fantasy, Kyle left on his own while his parents and brother go out, perhaps dreaming of her while he watches TV. When he answers the door, he will smile in the way that makes his eyes light up, take her into his arms before she can even get the words out and kiss her, right on the doorstep where the world can see that she is Kyle Broflovski's girl._

_Of course, it will be no good if he is babysitting his little brother, younger siblings tend to get in the way as soon as they see someone of the opposite sex with an attraction to their brother. Ike could well start making comments and interfering and she will not be able to say what she wants, it will just be embarrassing. She decides that she will sneak a look through the window where the light is coming from, if Kyle is there alone, she will knock at the door. If he is with his brother, or his brother is there alone, she will retreat and try another day. Her nerve is starting to fail her, although she knows he could not say no when she asks for a date – who could? – she is unused to being the asker._

_So thinking, Bebe goes up to the window and peeks through a gap in the curtains._

_Although Ike is not there – she does not know it, but he has gone to spend the night at Filmore's house with three other rambunctious pre-teen boys – Kyle is not alone. Stan and Kenny are with him, which would be enough to make her back off and leave anyway. But on this night, she takes a look, her jaw drops and she immediately ducks to the ground beneath the window, unmindful of her expensive designer jeans. Her thoughts are shocked and repetitive; she has not seen what she thinks she saw. A quick glance through the window has given her the wrong idea, a second look would disprove her initial impression and show her a completely different scene._

_So she takes a second look through the window and realises that her first impression was accurate, but still she does not believe it. She thinks that perhaps she is home dreaming or perhaps hit her head on the sill as she dropped out of sight because he literally does not believe the evidence of her own eyes._

_Kyle, Stan and Kenny are on the couch, the room is dark and the television is on, although she cannot see the screen she can see the way the light plays over the room. Stan is the one most likely to see her should he look toward the window, he is facing that way, but his attention is on Kenny, who is leaning with his back against Stan's body. Stan's head is buried in the crook of Kenny's neck, his hand in Kenny's hair and even from the distance, Bebe can see that Stan is planting slow kisses on Kenny's neck. It looks as if he might be smiling as he does so._

_Kenny's head is tipped back against Stan's shoulder, tilted to one side so Stan is better able to reach his neck. Bebe has rarely seen Kenny without more layers of clothing than any other kid in school, but now his shirt is cast aside and his naked torso is on display. His eyes are closed, his lips form a sentence that she cannot hear through the glass. His one hand is stroking down Stan's thigh, the other..._

_The other is threaded in Kyle's red curls and Bebe cannot see all of Kenny's chest because Kyle's head is in the way. But what she _can_ see is that Kyle – _her_ Kyle – is nuzzling his way up Kenny's body, leaving a trail of kisses, both hands on the blondes hips._

_Bebe feels simultaneously hot and angry, yet chilled deep inside her chest. Her heart is beating too fast, she can feel her pulse beating in her temples, like a throbbing headache. Her vision seems to mist, sending the scene in front of her into soft focus and her fists are clenched so hard that one of her acrylic nails digs into the soft flesh of her hand deep enough to leave a cut, then snaps off. She can hear her own breath coming in shallow, harsh pants and yet the sound seems to be distant._

_How can this be happening? Of all the possible scenarios that occurred to her, this was not one of them. It was a slap in the face, rejection on every level possible. Not only had Kyle not even given her the chance to ask him out, he had crushed her dreams without even realising or caring, he had chosen someone else over her – _two_ someone's and they both had something that she didn't. Penises for one thing. She had assumed he couldn't find anyone better than her and yet he had somehow found two people, two _men _he __would rather be with. _

_She feels rejected, neglected, abandoned. She feels worthless, as if nothing she can ever do will be worth anything because she will never be good enough. But more than that, she feels anger. Anger that she had wanted Kyle and he has chosen others over her, anger that she has been made a fool of, even if no one else knows about it, not even Kyle himself._

_As she watches, Kyle's lips close over Kenny's nipple and the blonde's chest hitches, his lips parting although she cannot hear the moan that falls from his lips. He arches his back slightly and Stan takes the opportunity to bite at the soft skin between neck and shoulder. Kenny's eyes open wide and for a heart-stopping moment, Bebe thinks she will be seen. But Kenny's eyes are glazed and he is paying no attention to the window and what lies beyond the almost-closed curtains._

_Bebe grinds her teeth, beautiful face made ugly by the hateful scowl on it. It should not be Kenny on the receiving end of Kyle's lips, certainly not at the same time as Stan was kissing his neck. It should be her. It should be her and Kyle and no one else. Instead, it's Kenny fucking McCormick and presumably Stan fucking Marsh who are with him in a way that Bebe has always wanted to be. She can almost hear the shattering sound of her harmless dreams crashing down._

_Unthinkingly, her hand reaches for her mobile phone. She is not thinking of what this means for the future or their lives or that she could be found out. Her mind is on revenge; revenge on Stan and Kenny for daring to seduce the man she wanted, revenge on Kyle for wanting them and not her. If it had been one of them she could have lived with knowing Kyle was gay, or so she tells herself. But this threesome – this is sick and she feels as if she has been cheated on, betrayed._

_She raises the phone to the window and scowls more as she sees Kyle kiss Kenny's shoulder and lean up, entwining a hand in Stan's hair and pulling him in for a kiss. Kyle's other hand strokes at Kenny's chest and Stan also runs his fingers over Kenny as he responds to Kyle, Kenny raising his head up to watch them, the lust clear in his face._

_She takes the picture and checks it over, a dark smirk crossing her face as she sees she has captured the scene perfectly. It is clear exactly what the three of them are up to. In the back of her mind is the thought of blackmail, that perhaps she will not share this picture on the condition that Kyle immediately stops groping his friends on the couch and behaves like the caring, straight boyfriend she has always hoped he would be._

_The Kyle leans back, breaking contact with both boys and Bebe freezes. Did they see something at the window that would give her away, perhaps hear the minute click as she pressed the button?_

_Apparently not. Kyle stands and reaches out, taking one of Kenny's hands and pulling the blonde to his feet, his arm going around the boy as he repeats the action with Stan. Stan almost stumbles against the pair of them and there is laughter that she can see but can't hear, affectionate smiles, lingering touches. She thinks for a moment that it is over, that they will put their clothes on and go back to watching their film. _

_Instead, Kyle pulls Stan's shirt off over his head and grins, arm still around Kenny. He plants a kiss right on Stan's chest, then leads his two best friends toward the stairs. Bebe watches blankly as they vanish from view, her mind racing and filled with fury. They are going to Kyle's room, all three of them, and she doesn't need to watch to know just what they are doing in there._

_But she still has the picture and she can still teach them a lesson. No one rejects Bebe Stevens and certainly not to indulge in deviant sex with other men._

_She will get her own back._

_She heads away from the house, walking to the corner and searching through the names on her phone until she comes across the boy that she dumped to ask Kyle to a dance, Mitchell Curtis. Football player, jock, generically handsome and possibly the most disliked boy in school after Cartman, thanks to his nasty, bullying ways. He is feared, fearless and has a surprisingly creative streak when it comes to being cruel._

_He will be the first person to see the picture that Bebe has taken, but he will not be the last. _

Bebe stops talking, staring into her drink. Ike stares at her with wide eyes. She has said that she couldn't believe what she was seeing, right now, he cannot believe what he is hearing.

"Kyle wasn't just gay," he says flatly. "He was polygamous. He was seeing Stan and Kenny and they knew about each other and they all, what, joined in? Do you know how, how – _how_ that sounds?"

She shrugs. "It's true. And anyway, so what if Kyle was involved with both of them at the same time? Does it matter?"

Raising her head, she gives Ike a defiant look. "Yeah, _now _I can see it was none of my business. Now I know it's not a big deal, that all of them should have been entitled to do what they want with each other in their own house. But back then – I don't know. I can remember it so clearly and I don't recognise the person I was, the way I behaved was – well, unforgivable. It really was. It's like watching someone else, seeing their thoughts but not understanding them. It wasn't like me at all. It was just – I don't know."

She sighs. "Have you ever been so angry that you can't see, can't think? Have you ever been so hurt that you just want to make everyone else hurt as much as you do and laugh while they suffer?"

Ike is human and he _has_ felt that way, more than once. He nods.

Bebe gives a humourless and slightly drunken laugh. "The worst part is, I had no reason to feel like that. Kyle and I were never a couple, only in my dreams and when they got ruined, I ruined him. Or I would have done, if things had been different. It was Friday when I saw them, Saturday when Stan got hurt. And Sunday when they found Kyle."

She signals for yet another drink and although the barman looks slightly doubtful, he serves her anyway. Ike starts to request another beer, although his bottle is over half full, then changes his mind and has a shot of whisky. He feels like he has been hit over the head with something heavy. There seems to be nothing more that he can say, but the thought keeps going around in his mind. Kyle was not just gay – _Ike _is gay and it does not bother him that his brother had that preference too. It is knowing that Kyle was in a relationship with two men, who knew about each other. How did they manage that, without the jealousy and possessiveness? Did Stan or Kenny choose to get Kyle out of the way, remove the third person so that they could be a couple? But that seemed so... dramatic.

Unless it was two of them who liked each other more than the third and the third who decided to rid himself of the competition. Ike's mind slips to the past and how it was always Stan and Kyle, Kyle and Stan. Kenny was on the edges of that, or so he seems to remember, dead or so quiet that he barely seemed to be there. And Kenny was the last person to see Kyle alive.

Bebe climbs from her stool, stumbles a little. Ike reaches out to catch her arm and steady her. She looks back at him, blue eyes sad.

"You told this guy Mitchell," says Ike, not aware that he is going to ask until the words come. "Could he have gone after Kyle?"

"He didn't have a thing to do with what happened to Kyle," replies Bebe and Ike knows he believes her. Simply put, she is too drunk to convincingly lie. "I was with Mitchell Friday night and I met the entire team right after the game Saturday. We partied pretty hard and – well, the photo didn't get further than it had that night. It might have been because of what happened to Stan, but they were lying low on that score. Didn't want a reason for anyone to think they had it in for him. They would have posted it somewhere Monday for sure, maybe earlier – but the next morning, everyone knew that Kyle was dead and that having that picture immediately put them into the frame for causing it. Everyone who had it deleted it right then."

She sighs, a tear making its way down her flawless cheek. "Everything I've done since then has been because of that night. Every choice, every decision. Because actions have consequences, I learned that the hard way. And you don't know what they're gonna be or who they're going to affect. Sometimes, I'm crippled with indecision. I can't make a choice, because I'm still living with the results of the wrong one. Kyle killed himself... and I'd be fooling myself if I didn't think I had plenty to do with that."

Pulling away from Ike's arm, she heads slowly to the ladies room, leaving Ike to struggle with what he has heard.


	6. Time Is Short

**Author Note: **My thanks go out to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: let's point out the obvious, xxSay, NotebookChen, angelswillfall, jayjabee and solarsphere101! I was really worried that the threesome might put people off and I didn't know how to give a warning without giving the whole thing away, so I kinda just took my chances with it. Glad to know you were happy with it!

I'm really glad Bebe went over okay – I didn't want her to be just shallow and bitchy, but who doesn't have their moments? And regarding Cartman, I love him to death but he's one character I really struggle to write. He will get more mentions than he has been doing though! Updates are gonna be less frequent than they were now, because the later chapters aren't as coherent just yet and I just got signed up to do a ton of overtime at work. Strangely, this never seems to make me richer. Enjoy!

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_Time is short and life is cruel but it's up to us to change..._

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By the time Bebe emerges from the bathroom, she is walking in the careful way that people do when they are trying not to reveal just how drunk they are. Her eyes look a little bloodshot but her make-up has been re-applied with a steady enough hand. She would pass for just fine if she were sitting down and not wearing that woebegone expression.

"I need to go," she says, before Ike can say anything. "I'm supposed to be spending time with my parents, not drinking in a bar and dragging up old ghosts. I just had to get away for a while. I love my parents, but coming back here is all so – relentlessly South Park."

Ike nods, understanding exactly what she means. "Bebe, thanks for talking to me, I know it's a uh, sore point for you. Can I just ask you one more question?"

She shrugs, not seeming pleased by the request but not denying it. "Fire away."

"You said you had a good idea what happened to Kenny, how he got beat up. What happened?"

Bebe hesitates a moment, trying to put the words together. "I don't know, for sure. But there was something. It was Saturday night, after the game. We were all sitting around Mitchell's house, his parents didn't mind us being there and they didn't seem to mind us drinking either, they were nearly as rich as Token's family only they had a place over in North Park. I was pretty drunk and giggly by then, but I was freaked too, y'know? I hadn't realised things would go so far. Stan got hurt during the game and I knew there was a straight line between what I'd seen and what happened. Like, payback, for stepping out of line?"

Ike indicates that he gets it and Bebe continues. "So Stan was hurt and a couple of the guys had been cut from the team over it. They were still pissed about it then, I've no idea how bad it must have been right after they got the news. But they were kinda laughing over it and Mitchell said something about how much fun Kyle was gonna have in school Monday, what with Stan in the hospital and Kenny dead and no one to back him up. Clyde kinda shushed him – I would never have thought he'd have the balls to shut him up, but he'd been drinking too and he was always kind of a pussy, depended if he was more scared of losing Mitchell's favour of if there was something else."

Ike looks at Bebe sharply. "He said Kenny was dead and Kyle would be in school? Are you sure it couldn't have been the other way around?"

"I've asked myself that, since Kyle died," replies Bebe. "I mean, I was drunk when I heard it. But I'm convinced for a couple of reasons. They didn't call Kyle and Kenny by their names for one thing and I don't think they'd call Kyle white trash or Kenny a kike... sorry."

"I've heard it once or twice before," says Ike, although that word still sets off a tight, unpleasant feeling in his chest, even if she is just quoting.

She nods hurriedly and ploughs ahead, anxious to be rid of the stigma of racism. "And they called Kyle that night. Not Kenny, Kyle. They got his number off me." Her face flushes once again. "He picked up once, but I think he hung up on them. And every call they made after that told them the phone was off."

Chewing his lip thoughtfully, Ike nods. No one has said that Kyle's phone was off, but it makes some sense if he was getting calls. And if they were calling Kyle for some malicious taunting, then it suggests that the people who injured Stan were not even in South Park when Kyle died.

"Is there anyone still in town, or coming for the reunion, that might be able to tell me what happened? Any of the football team?" Ike frowns, he does not want to talk to any of them, except maybe to sling accusations. Like how they ruined Stan Marshes career for some petty prejudice, how they had made his brothers last night on earth a confusion of accusations and fears.

Bebe considers it, indicating to the barman for another drink. The man looks doubtful about serving her, but does so anyway, although Ike is certain the drink is mixed weak. "I know Clyde's coming back," she says, tapping a fingernail on the side of the glass. "He has his parents here and he doesn't live all that far away. I talk to him on-line sometimes. When I asked if he'd be here, he said it'd be nice to get a break from his wife and kids." She looks at Ike, almost smiling. "But he'll never talk to you about what happened that weekend. He prefers to pretend it never happened. The one time I brought it up, we were both home for the holidays – was it Thanksgiving or Christmas? Anyway, he almost blew his stack. Told me there was no need to go dragging up the past."

Ike can feel his shoulders sag. Just when he thought he might be getting somewhere, some idea of what really happened to the three of them that night, this roadblock. "Bebe, is there no way at all? I really need this, I – Kyle was my brother, y'know? And Stan and Kenny were around so much, they may as well have been my brothers too. I need to _know_."

There is a deep sigh from Bebe as she pushes her hair away from her face, closing her eyes briefly. "I'll try," she says, almost timid. As if spilling the story should have been the end of her debt. She digs into her bag for her phone and Ike summons the barman yet again and asks to borrow the town phone book for the second time that day. He finds that there are three Donovan's listed, but Bebe recognises the address and dials the number. The moment there's a response, her voice goes from slightly drunk and depressed to flirty and friendly. Ike is almost amazed at the difference.

She gets to speak to Clyde, who is evidently staying with his parents for the duration of his trip. She gives her greetings and smiles nervously at Ike before continuing. "Actually Clyde – I've kind of a favour to ask you."

She bites her plump lower lip and Ike can hear the cheery tone of the person at the other end of the phone, no doubt reassuring her that she can ask away. "The thing is Clyde, well... Ike Broflovski's in town. He knows about the picture. I already told him everything I know..."

Bebe winces slightly, no doubt being recriminated for doing this. "No Clyde, I know none of us had anything to do with what happened to Kyle, I _know_ that. But Ike didn't even know about Kyle being gay, let alone anything about the rest of it and he's just trying to draw a time line for his brothers last movements." There's another pause and Ike knows from Bebe's expression that Clyde is telling her no, that he's not going to speak to the baby brother of his long-dead classmate.

"Do it for me then!" Bebe's voice is suddenly sharp. "After all this time, there's nothing for us to cover up anymore. We've all got an alibi for Kyle's death, it's not about hiding what we did. Not any more We were mean and I don't know about you but I have a hard time meeting my own eyes some days, but this could really help Ike. And after all this time, there's nothing left that needs hiding. You weren't part of the tackle that hurt Stan even. So what the hell are you still covering for? Please Clyde, it's not even just that. It might help me come to terms with it all too."

There's another pause, but this time Bebe nods, looking up at Ike again. "Breakfast, eight-thirty. Hogan's Café." Ike gives her a thumbs up and she gives a tentative smile back. "That's fine. And Clyde? Thank you." She ends the call and seems to deflate the moment she does. "I don't know that he can help you," she says, draining the rest of her drink in one. "But he was there when I wasn't."

"Thank you Bebe," says Ike softly. "This means a lot to me."

Ike calls her a cab and tries to make small talk as they wait. It is awkward; she has just revealed to him that his brother was involved in some weird sexual triangle with his two best friends and he really doesn't know what to make of it. For her part, Bebe is clearly deeply ashamed to reveal her own actions back then. Ike can't decide if he feels pity for her, or anger at her casual trashing of the lives of three people. Because he has no doubt that something happened to all of them that weekend and that news of this threesome seems to have been covered up following Kyle's death is the key to it all.

Keiran shows up just before Bebe's cab arrives and Ike waves to him gratefully. The man comes over and greets them both, polite but distant to Bebe, clearly wondering what is going on. His eyes flicker to Ike's face and Ike wonders if he is as much as an open book as he feels right then, because he is certain that his lack of comprehension shows on his face.

Bebe's cab arrives before they are forced to do much more than exchange hellos though, for which Ike is grateful – they obviously do not recall each other and why would they? Even back then, they lived in different worlds. The bartender comes over, clearly disappointed that Bebe has left but greeting Keiran by name and asking what he would like.

Keiran orders them both a beer, the same brand that Ike has been drinking, takes another look at Ike and adds whisky chasers to the list. Once the drinks are in front of them, he motions to a booth over at the side of the room.

Ike follows, a drink in either hand, his mind not on this meeting. All he can think of is that Kyle really was seeing both men at the same time. Literally. And apparently, all three were fine with it. It is this that does not sit well in his mind. He cannot imagine wanting to be with someone so much as to be willing to share their affections. And from the description Bebe gave, it sounds almost as if all of them were willing participants, all equally happy to share.

He can't understand.

Keiran takes a sip of his beer, then points to the whisky. "You look like you could do with that. What's happened? You look..." He shakes his head. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you look like you just got the shock of your life."

Ike glances back to the door Bebe left through and grasps his chaser, downing it in one and grimacing. "I think I did. Shit." He drinks from the beer to quell the burning in his throat.

Keiran looks over at him. "Ike. Whatever you came back to town for... are you sure this is good for you?"

"No," replies Ike. "But I have to do this. I have to. I have to know what happened to Kyle." He hesitates, not wanting to open up to the man. He has never opened up to anyone about this before. But he needs to put his own thoughts in order and a cool head and fresh perspective is just what he needs.

_Just tell him_ Kyle suggests.

"I need to know," he admits. "I – oh, Kyle was my hero back then. And I can't shake his ghost. Everything I've ever done, I always wondered what Kyle would say, if he'd approve, if he'd care. I just always needed more. More than the theory. I _need_ to know what happened to him."

"That's why you're here?" Keiran sticks another cigarette in his mouth and lights it. Ike expects the bartender to come over and yell, but he ignores them.

"Yeah. I need to, I dunno, catch up to him. Find out something more than I know about him..."

"Remember him?"

Ike glances at Keiran, surprised. "Yeah, that too. It's so weird that the world went on and time went by, _ten years_ went by and Kyle's still dead and most people don't even know. And I always thought Kyle would change the world. He's _still _the one person who impacted my life the most and – well, I miss him. I needed to do this. Just to remind myself that I'm not the only person who knew him, that he's not something I dreamed or made up."

He snorts, taking another swig of his beer. "Only now I find out I might not have known him at all. In one _day_, I found out some stuff about Kyle that I wouldn't ever have believed and I just don't know what to make of it. And all the stuff about how he died, it doesn't make any sense. The police called it an accident and I don't see how it could be anything else, but... it's off. Something's not right at all there."

Keiran offers his cigarettes, which Ike declines. Nodding, Keiran places the packet back on the table. "You wanna talk about it? It might help you get it straight."

_Do it_ encourages Kyle.

And much to Ike's surprise, he does.

"My brother was gay," he says bluntly.

Keiran raises his eyebrows. "You got something against gay guys?" Ike notices the tone in his voice, it is part question, also part confession. _I like guys, so you'd better watch what you're saying if you've got a problem with that._

"Be hypocritical if I did," he replies dryly, his own words just as much a confession as Keiran's. _I like guys too, I'm not gonna bitch about that part._ There's that nagging piece of business out of the way and early too, Ike has never been able to grasp the protocol for the revelation. He cannot seem to slip it seamlessly into the conversation and it comes out awkwardly, or he leaves it later than is polite and offends people. "But I only found out today about Kyle... he never said."

"Kyle was seventeen," says Keiran. "You were out of high school at that age, right?" Ike nods and Keiran continues. "You can't understand then. High school is filled with conformists. If you don't fit into the perfect little mould, then you're a target. No one wants to be a target every hour of every day. It's easier to just keep quiet. Hell, it's not so great out of high school, but at least adults have to pretend to have a social conscience. Teenagers are pack animals and they can smell weakness a mile away."

Ike nods, he has considered this point himself and Tweek has made it too. He explains to Keiran how things were with Kyle, Stan and Kenny, how close they were, all the things they went through together. He outlines to Keiran what Tweek has said, about seeing Kyle and Stan together, and then adds what he had found out from Craig about Kyle and Kenny. As he does so, something he doesn't recognise flashes through Keiran's eyes and he stops.

"Is there something you know about this?"

"Maybe." Keiran's tongue darts out, plays with his lip ring. "I'll tell you once you finish the story. There's something else, isn't there? Otherwise you wouldn't have looked so pale when I got here."

Mildly intrigued, Ike continues, telling Keiran about Bebe's story. He frowns and stumbles through it, his confusion shining through. He simply can't see how they can possibly have even got into such a situation. He certainly does not understand how it can have worked... and yet, the way Bebe described the scene doesn't makes it seem like two are more involved than the other one.

Keiran's eyebrows raise as he hears about the threesome, but he remains silent until Ike simply runs out of information. The last thing he knows is that Bebe showed the picture to the boy on the team. He has no real idea what happened after that.

Keiran nods thoughtfully, lighting another cigarette, while Ike sips at his drink. "You're freaked because Kyle had two boyfriends?"

Ike nods. "I could deal with him being gay, even if I wasn't it wouldn't bother me. I'd be hurt he never said – I mean, I _am_ hurt, but I can understand why he'd keep it from me back then. I just can't see it. All three of them, at once? The uh, _mechanics_ aside, it'd be an emotional minefield."

"Maybe." Keiran meets Ike's eyes. "Or maybe they hadn't gotten far enough along for things to get complicated. Maybe it never would have been. You said yourself, they were way close for friends. Maybe they _couldn't_ have one without the other. And if none of them could choose, why would any of them?"

"That makes no sense –"

"Why not, because it's out of the ordinary?" Keiran flicks the cigarette to the floor and crushes it underfoot. "It's not traditional, not _conformist_, but it happens. There's no reason why the threesome had to end up a twosome, if that's what you're thinking."

Ike flushes. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only because I know how I'd think with the same information. Your brother's got two guys he's with, they know about each other and he shows up dead before the relationship gets out. Could have been that one of them killed him in a jealous rage when he got cut out of the relationship, either because they loved Kyle and didn't want the other to have him or because with Kyle out of the way, the others'd be able to be together. Only it doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?"

"Stan had an alibi," replies Keiran, picking up his bottle and swishing the remaining beer around the bottom. "A helluva good one. That rules him right out."

"But Kenny only has his parents word, and they're not exactly upstanding citizens," Ike points out. "He could have lured Kyle up there easily."

"Except you already said he'd been in a fight and Kyle hadn't."

"He could have been in that fight any time that night. It could have been after Kyle died."

"But Kenny and Stan didn't end up together." Keiran drains his bottle, thinking. "There's something else, you were right when you said I knew something, but it didn't really add up at the time. I just thought it was a gesture."

Ike had been about to get them another drink, but he forgets as he leans over the table. "What is it?"

Keiran looks back at him. "Do you know what my job is?"

Ike shakes his head and Keiran continues. "I'm a tattoo artist. I work from a studio in Denver, there's not really enough work in South Park to do anything here. But everyone from town goes there when they want something done – which isn't often enough by the way. And about three years ago, when I was still pretty much in training, Kenny McCormick walked through the door. No one around town sees him all that much and he was wearing a hood so I didn't recognise him at all at first. It was one of those gradual dawning things. I mean, everyone in South Park knows who Kenny is, by rep if not by sight."

Considering this, Ike finds himself agreeing. Kenny is something of a legend in town, or he was when Ike was living there. It occasionally surprised him how much rumour and speculation there was about a boy who spent frequent amounts of time at their house, hanging out with Kyle, teasing Ike good-naturedly or trying to charm the uncharmable Sheila.

"I was looking at the design he chose when I realised. The design sorta gave it away actually. Just one of those generic things, the heart with the dagger in? Old fashioned, kinda cheap looking. I tried to talk him into something else, but he just said something about how the scars are gone when he comes back. I was starting to get it then, but he was so normal. Not like you'd expect at all. I'd seen him around before he went all recluse and he didn't look all that much different, young and pretty handsome. And he got the tattoo done, with the scrolls on them where you can put names?"

Ike nods slowly. He thinks he knows what is coming.

"He had Kyle put on one. Stan on another. I didn't ask questions. I guess I thought he was feeling maudlin for his youth and y'know, Kyle was dead and Stan was long gone. And that he wanted a reminder. You'd be amazed how often people do that."

He taps his finger against the bottle. "I just don't think that's the action of someone who killed Kyle, no matter what the reason and even if it doesn't last. Although it doesn't prove a thing."

"Maybe not," replies Ike. "But I've had difficulty reconciling the Kenny I knew back then to the kind of person who'd just leave Kyle lying there. On the other hand, I _can_ see him getting the ink."

Keiran nods, gets up and goes to the bar. When he returns, he has two beers but there are no chasers this time. He sits opposite, puts down the beers and says, "Ike? If you had to say who you thought back then was the most capable of hurting Kyle, who would it have been?"

"Eric Cartman," replies Ike, not even having to consider it.

Keiran raises an eyebrow, but Ike can see that the name has rung a bell. In a town this size, it would be weird if it didn't, if Kyle's death has made legend then Cartman's life has done the same. "Why? What's he got to do with any of this?"

"Nothing," replies Ike, picking up his bottle but not drinking from it yet, thinking. "Trust me, I may not have known my brother as well as I thought I did, but I did know him _that_ well and he'd never get involved. But if there was one person in the world that Kyle honestly hated, it was Cartman. He could always get such a rise out of Kyle..." He trails off and laughs a little, taking a drink and noting Keiran's quizzical look.

"I kind of admired him, in a terrible way," he confesses. "Out of all the people in the world, he was the one who could push all Kyle's buttons and get him from neutral to furious in seconds. Kyle was so smart and he hated that Cartman always managed to get the better of him. Every time Kyle thought he'd won, Cartman pulled out something else."

Ike shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. "But according to what the cops said, Cartman had an alibi for the whole night. He went to KFC, took it home and stayed there. They vouched for the time in the KFC and his mom had someone there who said he came home with it. And there's no reason for him to do anything either. He wasn't one of Bebe's friends, nothing to do with the football team and they were the ones with the picture. So it wasn't that and anyway, with Stan hurt, Kyle would have been really upset. He wouldn't have given Cartman the time of day, let alone hung out with him. I mean, they were sort-of friends, in some fucked up way, but I never understood what made them hang out together when they obviously hated each other."

He pauses, thinking it over. "And that's it. No one else hated Kyle, everyone who did have a reason to hurt him wasn't around."

Keiran nods, taking a drink of his own beer. Clearly he is mulling over the whole situation and Ike feels suddenly, absurdly grateful that this man whom he hasn't seen in ten years has interrupted his own life to listed to Ike's problems. He has of course missed Kyle like fire, but Kyle is not all that he has missed. He has missed the town he grew up in, he has missed the life he left behind – but he has also missed the friends he had there too, even if that feeling had been eclipsed by missing his brother.

_So change the subject_ suggests Kyle. _You're not coming up with anything new by going over and over the same ground. Leave it for now, catch up with Keiran. There's always tomorrow._

"You're a tattoo artist?" Ike smiles, trying to temporarily put Kyle to the back of his mind. "I was trying to think what you might be doing now, but I couldn't see anything that quite fit. It's weirdly apt. You like it?"

Keiran laughs a little, seeming to realise that Ike is done talking about the past, for now. "It's okay. It doesn't really pay the big bucks, working in Denver. I'm in a studio with another guy, he owns the place but he really just sits around and occasionally does a small piece on some hot lady. And all the erotic piercings."

Ike had been drinking, he almost chokes on his mouthful, shocked laughter in his throat. He manages to swallow, puts the bottle down, nearly spills. Keiran looks amused and although Ike is still laughing, he can feel a blush coming over his cheeks. He wishes he hadn't reacted like that, he must look so sheltered and naïve. As far as body modification goes, he probably is.

"Do you practice on yourself?" he asks, looking at Keiran's arms. It's Keiran's turn to snort with laughter and Ike rewinds the conversation, reddening more as he realises what that sounds like. "Tattoos, I mean tattoos! Do you practice tattooing on yourself, is what I meant to ask. Not anything else."

"A little," replies Keiran, managing to get his amusement under control. "But not all that much. It's kinda hard getting the angle, you can't move yourself right all the time. I did these." He reaches his left arm over the table, points out a tribal symbol that goes from wrist to elbow. "But mostly I leave my own body to other people. Too hard to reach the back of my own neck."

He grins easily at Ike. "You haven't got any ink?"

"No!" Ike shakes his head at the thought. "I'm not adverse to the idea, but it sounds like it's painful and there's never been anything I'd like enough to go through it."

"It hurts a bit, but not too much," returns Keiran. "Not like people make it sound. And it's addictive." He takes a swig of his drink, giving Ike a wicked smile, which Ike can't help but return. They are flirting, he realises with mild surprise. It has been so long and he's usually so oblivious that it comes as a surprise – but a welcome one.

Ike had planned to have maybe a couple of drinks with Keiran and go back to the motel, get a good nights sleep before his meeting with Clyde the next morning. But he loses track somewhere along the line, occasionally going up to the bar for more drinks for the two of them but having no other inclination to move. He finds out that Keiran still lives with his mother and commutes to work, not earning enough to pay for his own place and having no burning need to hurry that rite of passage along anyway. He is single – "I've dated every decent man in Denver," he says dryly, "All three of them." The sentiment makes Ike laugh and nod in full understanding. Keiran tells him that he wants one day to move further afield, maybe open up a small studio of his own and be his own boss. He looks a little embarrassed by the telling, but Ike can't help but think it's a good ambition and given the quality of the work on Keiran's arm, wholly attainable.

In return, Ike tells Keiran a little about his own job, although he tries to gloss over certain aspects – it sounds glamorous until he goes into detail and when he talks too much, it becomes painfully apparent that Ike has little else going on outside of it. He describes his apartment, why having room for a piano in the living room was the main selling point for him. "It wasn't until after I bought it that it occurred to me I don't have a piano, I can't play the piano and I don't want to learn the piano," he confesses and Keiran seems to find this oddly funny. Ike thinks it makes him sound like a frivolous eccentric and had not meant to tell Keiran about it, the words merely slipped out.

They move onto other topics, likes and dislikes, bizarre parental disciplines, what their former classmates have been up to in the years gone by – Keiran tells Ike about the paths several of their peers have taken, including Ike's friend Filmore who apparently is studying medicine at college. Ike can't remember the last time he went out and ended up relaxed and enjoying himself, usually he ends up in a bar after work talking shop with his colleagues, or else in a club feeling self-conscious and obvious, wanting to be somewhere or someone else.

They buy more beer, have a game of pool which Ike wins, then another which he doesn't. He does not say it out loud, but he blames Keiran for the loss, especially the interesting way his toned arms move when he goes to take a shot. As time goes on, he realises he feels less like he is hanging out and more as if he is on a date. This is fine, he is having a good time either way and he would never dream of telling Keiran about the feeling. He's had several beers and although he doesn't feel drunk, he's aware that it might just be adding to his sense of this all being out of the ordinary.

Keiran has changed in one fundamental way, although he is still quite sombre at times, he is quicker to laugh or smile than he was as a pre-teen. Maybe he has given up on protecting his Goth image or maybe he is enjoying himself as much as Ike is and just doesn't care. Whatever the reason, Ike likes it far more than the blank disdain that was more common for him back then. People change and this is one difference that Ike prefers.

When the barman calls time, Ike almost drops through the floor in shock – he had not realised it was so late. He checks his watch, thinking that he will have to do well to get in enough sleep to be coherent for his meeting with Clyde tomorrow. But he knows now that he _can _sleep, when only a couple of hours before it would have made him laugh to suggest he'd do anything but restlessly toss and turn.

Keiran looks almost disappointed, taking his drink and taking a long sip, this beer is just over half full, as is Ike's. Ike can't help but feel a little saddened himself. He would like to have continued this, go down the street to one of the bars which are still open and hang out for a while or suggest that they maybe meet up again tomorrow. But he is not in town for fun, he does not really know how long he will be staying and there is no guarantee that Keiran will even be available another night.

They go back to their seats and Ike notices that Keiran's relatively rapid consumption has suddenly slowed, taking his time over the last beer. He wonders if it is due to it being the last, or his own presence. But they can't delay it forever; the beer drunk and the conversation over, they retrieve their jackets and Keiran offers to walk Ike back to the motel. It might be slightly ridiculous – the motel is literally in view from the window they sit at – but Ike agrees immediately. He is reluctant to leave Keiran's company and wants to drag out the leaving as long as he can.

They cross the street, Ike keeping his hands in his pockets and Keiran doing the same, stopping outside the entrance to the motel. Ike shifts his feet uncomfortably, with no idea at all what to say. _Thanks for a good night, see you later_? Or _call me_? He'd like to do this again, but his former ease has been replaced by his usual social awkwardness.

There is a moment of silence, then they both start to speak at once, Ike giving a small snort of laughter. Keiran grins a little. "Go ahead."

"You first," returns Ike, wondering if he's showing too much formality.

Keiran shrugs and stares at the floor a moment before looking up at Ike, his tongue playing with his lip ring. Ike tries to keep his expression pleasant and neutral, wondering why Keiran looks suddenly so damned nervous.

"Ike. You're not in town for long, right?"

"Right."

"And we don't have time for some long drawn-out dance around each other." Keiran rubs the back of his neck, clearly trying to look a little cynical and only managing to look worried. "I like you Ike, a lot. I dunno, I kind of expected that you'd have changed more. But you're smart, you're funny, you're easy to talk to and – I kinda wondered if you wanted to spend more time together. Y'know, since you're gonna be gone soon and all, I thought... since we don't have a lot of time, we should make the most of it. Kinda. Yeah."

Ike blinks. He likes Keiran too, but he has not expected that Keiran likes him this much, or that he would be quite so forward. Ike has never had a proposition like this one, he is more used to the slow getting to know each other, the dance around what happens next.

He has never been fond of fleeting, casual relationships and has not come to town looking for one – but he likes Keiran too, he really does and he does not recall the last time he could honestly say that about another person in the romantic sense. He hesitates, wondering what Kyle would have to say about all this, but the Kyle who speaks from his psyche is oddly quiet, as if indicating _you can make your own mind up about this one kid. _That he hasn't heard the usual warnings and reluctance is actually more of a green light than anything he would have said.

And it's the thought of Kyle that makes up his mind. Kyle dying when he was younger than Ike was, but somewhere along the line, he found the nerve to say that he did want something out of the ordinary. Taking a chance, living in the moment. Like Keiran is, it is not Ike who is in danger of rejection here.

Ike waits for Keiran to look back up at him and smiles. "Do you want to come in for a while?"


	7. This Seasons Losers

**Author Note:** Huge thanks for the reviews from let's point out the obvious, NotebookChen (hope you're enjoying Germany!) and Dretastic! I'm so glad you all enjoyed it and I hope you like this chapter too. While I was preparing to write this story I did a whole load of research into American Football, which in my country is regarded with deep scorn. If I've made any mistakes regarding the game and it's players, feel free to point out to me and I'll rectify them as soon as I can. I actually appreciate what the players go through during their training now, even though it's never gonna be up to par with _real_ football, lol.

~:~

_Whatever happened to all this seasons losers of the year?_

~:~

When Ike awakens and reaches for his phone to kill its insistent bleeping, telling him it is half past seven and time he was up and showering, he supposes he should be mildly ashamed of himself. He certainly should be more awkward when he rolls over and meets Keiran's eyes, the other must think the worst of him. But then, surely that would work both ways and Ike does not think anything less of Keiran at all, he admires the man's honesty. And he does not feel particularly shamed by his actions either.

It is not characteristic for him to fall into bed after a first date though and he does not know how he should behave. They have no future together, they both know this. But the present is good enough.

Keiran solves this problem by giving him no time to speak, merely leaning forward to kiss him lightly and sitting up. "Morning," he says with a smile, Ike notices that he has a slight blush to his cheeks. That Keiran is not entirely certain of protocol either somehow reassures him. "You have a breakfast date, right?"

Ike nods, remembering the trouble Bebe went through to get Clyde to speak with him and Keiran continues. "Why don't you grab the shower first? You can hit me with the towel if I fall back asleep again."

With a smile of his own, Ike gets out of bed and heads for the bathroom, turning on the shower and refreshing himself under the water. It washes away his tiredness although it will doubtless catch up to him later, hopefully it also washes away the lingering traces of beer and tobacco that cling to his skin. It is not something that Ike minds right then, however, he is conscious that he will appear more professional without it.

Keiran is not asleep when he emerges, instead the tattooed man is sitting on the bed, smoking. He gives Ike a grin and raises his eyebrows at the sight of Ike in a towel, Ike colours a little and laughs at the blatant display of attraction, it puts him even more at his ease. When Keiran disappears into the bathroom it occurs to Ike that he has never had a morning after that was quite so casual and ordinary, perhaps it is the lack of expectations that makes it that way or maybe that lack is just the kicker in a bad cosmic joke. Whatever the reason, he wishes they had more time. He has examined every one of Keiran's tattoos in detail, he would like to do so again, commit them to memory. Commit _him_ to memory.

He dresses in dark jeans and long sleeves, another casual advertisement of success. The look is wholly calculated, partly for Kyle's memory and that of his parents, partly because he suspects it will have more of an effect on Clyde's willingness to speak than were he entirely casual. He read a study on it once and has never had reason to disbelieve it, it can only help after all.

His agenda for the day is clear. First, he will speak to Clyde and see what he can learn. Then he will find Kenny. And he _will_ find Kenny McCormick, even if he has to search every single house in this hick mountain town. He cannot learn what was really going on with only those who were on the outside to speak about it.

Keiran emerges while Ike finishes dressing, whipping off the towel without apparent embarrassment and grabbing his jeans. Ike tries to find another direction to look in, not wanting to seem perverted, but there is very good reason to stare at Keiran, he will never be a magazine model but Ike finds him far more appealing than anyone more conventionally handsome.

Keiran looks over and Ike flushes as he realises he has been caught staring. But Keiran just smirks and drags on his jeans, fastening the button and then speaking. "Um, I know you're busy and all and I gotta go to work today anyway. But if you're free, maybe we can meet up for a while later? Like say, sixish? You can tell me what else you found out and uh, if you're gonna need to stay around longer. Or something."

The grin is firmly on Ike's face before he can stop it. "Yeah, that'd be great. But can I take your number, just in case I get caught up with something?

They finish dressing, exchange numbers. Keiran offers to walk Ike to the café and he readily agrees, aware that he is going to be pushing it to be on time. He is also aware that he is nervous again, not of what is happening between him and Keiran, but of what Clyde might tell him or refuse to tell him. For once his brother has not been on his mind, now Kyle's memory is catching up to him once more.

Henrietta is fortunately not on the desk, Ike is not sure he could take her knowing look even if she would not comment on them leaving at such an early hour together. They walk to the café, which is not far away, deciding their best meeting place later on would be the bar where they drank the night before. Ike is aware that the alcohol the previous evening may have lowered his inhibitions somewhat but he was not drunk and he is not hungover that morning and anyway, he does not feel that what happened between them was in any way a bad thing.

There is a slightly awkward moment upon arriving outside when Ike is not sure of how he should best say goodbye. Once again, Keiran solves the problem for him, more forward and apparently far more relaxed about the situation – although Ike sees the mild trepidation before he acts, as if he is going on instinct but not intellectually convinced he is doing the right thing. Keiran leans in to kiss his cheek quickly, gives him a strange buddy-buddy arm squeeze and heads down the road. Ike looks after him for a second, then tries to focus his attention entirely on the business that brought him here in the first place and walks into the building.

Ike is not sure what Clyde Donovan looks like – the boy was not one of Kyle's friends and high school football was not exactly a passion of his. The funding difference between sports and academics in most state schools is enough to depress him and remind him that no matter what good he can achieve through his brains, he will never be as revered as some knuckle-dragger who can smash through a defensive line-up and throw a ball onto a painted line. An unfair generalisation certainly, but one he feels he is entitled to. He will not recognise the man and he hopes that he is not lost in some sea of returnees from good old Park County High, or Ike could easily be horribly embarrassed trying to work out whom he is meeting.

But the café is quiet, four people there aside from the staff and Ike himself. An elderly couple in one corner, working over toast and eggs in a grim silence that suggests habit. A much younger person, perhaps a teenager in jeans and a hood, finishing up a coffee. But they are put into shadow by the man at a table near the door, the person whom Ike immediately focuses on. He looks to be about thirty, with closely-cut light brown hair. He's overweight if not quite yet obese, the fingers tapping at the menu as he reads are meaty and slightly long. There's a wedding ring on the left hand that is beginning to vanish into the flesh, as if it were originally placed on a much younger, much slimmer version of this man.

Ike pauses at the table. "Clyde Donovan?"

Clyde looks up, nods. There is no hint of a smile on his face, he clearly has not wanted this meeting and is not planning to make finding the answers easy. "Ike Broflovski? Hi. Take a seat. I'm gonna have breakfast. Stayed up some with my old man last night, y'know?"

Ike slides into the seat opposite, nods as if he understands, although he doesn't. Gerald Broflovski has indeed spent some nights with Ike on his visits home, which are not as frequent as they probably should be for no reason other than Ike finds it more painful to go than it is to stay away. They have stayed up with a couple of beers, shooting the shit as men are supposed to do with their adult sons. But Ike is always conscious that there is someone missing, that there are some topics that are simply out of bounds. Gerald will talk all day about some dry case at work, or reminisce about college – but he does not mention South Park if he can help it, nor the years spent raising the children there. He will speak of Kyle if the conversation demands it, but it makes him sad and Ike tries to avoid it. No, he does not understand how it is to be able to talk to ones father without having to pretend Kyle should not be there too.

The waitress approaches; Clyde orders bacon, eggs, sausage, toast. Ike considers breakfast, but the very thought makes him slightly queasy, the good feeling that was with him earlier when he was alone with Keiran is wearing off in the face of his brothers past and he sticks to tea, a glass of orange on the side.

There is a moments awkward pause as the waitress leaves, then they both start to speak at once. Ike is the one to shut up and let Clyde continue, more interested in what the other has to say than in questions he will hopefully have time to ask soon.

Clyde starts again. "I don't know why you need to rake up what happened back then." His expression goes from almost neutral to mildly sulky. "I don't know anything about what happened to Kyle. I saw him in the distance at the game Saturday and that was it."

"I didn't come back to find out how he died," replies Ike. "I was looking to find out more about what he was like when he was alive. And Bebe said you might know something about what happened that weekend."

Clyde shakes his head, seeming almost angry. "That weekend, I played in the game, went back to Mitchell's house after, stayed there the whole night."

"No. That's not the whole truth." Ike is starting to get angry too, raising a hand to mark of the relevant points on his fingers. "One, Kyle, Stan and Kenny wake up just fine Saturday. Two, Stan gets busted up at the game. Three, Kenny gets the shit kicked out of him between leaving the hospital and Sunday morning. Four, Kyle ends up dead at some time late Saturday night. And you guys are the only ones who happen to know they the three of them had a relationship going on."

His half-whispered rant is interrupted by the waitress, who puts their drinks in front of them and informs them that Clyde's breakfast will be another ten minutes or so. She doesn't seem to recognise either of them, for which Ike is profoundly grateful, leaving without seeming interested in their conversation.

"Bebe said you could help me," says Ike, feeling slightly helpless. If Clyde chooses to stubbornly insist he knows nothing at all, then Ike will be at a dead end and he doesn't know how to force the issue.

"Bebe." Clyde pours sugar into his coffee. "I'm only here because she conned me into it, made me promise to do her a favour before she told me it was meeting you. I wouldn't have met you at all, only she seems to think it'll help her somehow and she's always been a good friend of mine. She changed totally after that weekend. Blamed herself. She always thought Kyle killed himself over that stupid picture."

"You and I both know Kyle wasn't that much of a coward." Ike leans over the table. "Come on Clyde. I know how Bebe got the picture, I know she showed it to Mitchell and all his football buddies and I know that Stan got hurt by you guys on the field the next day. But I don't know what happened to Kenny, I can't find him to ask him and Bebe's certain you know something about that. She overheard you!"

Clyde directs an uncomfortable look at Ike, his face reflecting shame and defiance, looking almost trapped. Ike does not believe that Kyle and Kenny were involved in some kind of fight that evening and that leaves the question of just where Kenny received the bruises that everyone remembers from the day after. He suspects that it is not only Clyde who knows the answer, but Clyde is the one in front of him and he knows of no one else to ask.

"_What happened?" _His voice is almost a hiss. "I _deserve_ to know. I deserve to know what happened to my brother! And you know something, I know you do. What happened to Kenny that night?"

Clyde looks away and for a moment, Ike is not certain that he will talk. Whatever Clyde knows, he has obviously never shared the information with anyone else. When he unexpectedly does start speaking, in rapid bursts with pauses in odd places, it is clear that Clyde has never before let the words into the air and seems dully surprised that he is doing so now.

"You probably don't know what it's like to be just another kid in High School. I mean, you're some kinda genius, right? You probably were finished with it all when you were fifteen, taking a degree in advanced something-or-other. The rest of us, we were studying and worrying about the future and trying to get by. Out in the real world, it's almost admirable to be different, though you're never going to be really popular. In High school, it's suicide. You can't stand out from the crowd, there's a huge list of rules that no one talks about but everyone knows and you have to stick to. If you want to fit in."

Clyde sighs. "Some people know they'll never fit in, so they go out of their way to be different. Some of them struggle their whole lives to be one of the crowd, anything for a little acceptance. And some make it look fucking easy."

He snorts, a small frown coming over his face. "I was one of those who struggled. I followed every fad, wore the right clothes, thought the right thoughts. I hung out with the right people and mocked the unpopular kids. And that made me a part of the group... but I knew, even then that I wasn't an important part of it. Just another hanger-on. I put so much effort into it, and then there were the guys like Stan Marsh who never even had to try."

Ike blinks. He was not expecting this at all, mostly because he has put so much thought into what happened to Kyle and Kenny that he has started to see Stan on the edge of things, not a part of his suppositions. "Stan?"

Clyde shakes his head. "Stan was a good guy. He was genuinely nice, he was handsome, he was smart, he was the one guy on the team who had a shot of going pro, he could have had his pick of any girl in school and they would have fucked him senseless in a heartbeat and been proud to be a notch on the bedpost. And he didn't even seem to care that much about being mister popularity. And even if we all liked him, secretly we all hated him too. We were all jealous as hell. I know I was. He had all that and it didn't even matter that much to him. His best friends were Kyle and Kenny and it was like being popular didn't matter to them either. But they added to Stan's aura too, we kinda saw Kyle as helping him in school and Kenny as being someone he could get to hook him up with dope. Stan Marsh and his perfect life and his faithful friends. And I hated him so much because I wanted to be _just like him_."

Clyde runs a hand through his hair. "It all sounds so petty now," he says, laughing hollowly. "It wasn't even as if he went looking to be the most popular guy in school. It just happened. And he didn't try, didn't hang around with the cool crowd. His friends were real and they weren't looking for popularity by association and he wasn't hanging around with them because they'd help his status. Everything about Stan was real."

He smiles, but it is small and bitter. "And so when it all came crashing down, it was so much sweeter, at first anyway. No one thought Stan could make a mistake but when he did... whoa. That was a _mistake_, it was _huge_. Scandal, gossip. Stan was gonna be a social outcast. And when you fall like that in High school, you don't just get ignored. You get _attacked_. He had all that to look forward to, Kenny and Kyle too. Not that we cared that much about Kenny and Kyle you understand. I mean, we'd have ripped the shit outta them too, but they weren't the main part of it, for the football team at least. It was Stan Marsh, mister big-shot himself about to take a fall. Only Kyle died and all of a sudden, it didn't seem to matter about anything we could do to him. Kenny either."

Ike does not want to understand, but he thinks he does. High school is a place of conformity and those who are not the same face the sharks. His brother had been about to come up against that – only he had died before it could get too bad. But something had happened to Stan and Kenny... and had it not, would they have been able to stop Kyle from dying?

"Please." he says, giving Clyde a pleading look. "I need to know. I want to find out what happened, now more than ever."

Staring down, Clyde starts to talk, haltingly, as if the memory is painful.

_Clyde has always had to work at popularity. As he entered High school, his reputation was that of a Nobody, an okay guy but no stand out. Liked well enough by the girls, although he's aware of their materialism. The guys see him as a bit of a wimp and though they don't tease him unmercifully, they do make comments and jokes about his sensitivity. He works hard when he gets into High school to become one of the guys and by the age of seventeen he believes he has accomplished this. He is on the football team, he has left behind his childhood crowd and spends evenings and weekends with his new friends. They fill him with emotions of both acceptance and unease, he knows that it will take only one mistake for that acceptance to be taken from him and cast him back into the role of Nobody once more. Worse than a Nobody, because he used to be Somebody._

_So when he is shown the picture of Stan Marsh – Stan Marsh, the star quarterback, the most popular boy in the entire school – in a clearly sexual embrace with not one but _two_ other guys, he reacts predictably, as expectations demand. He is outwardly disgusted, shocked and incredulous. He calls Stan a pervert and a queer and a deviant. And although he truly is startled, he is not as horrified by the revelation as he pretends to be. If anything, mostly he feels relief. It is Stan that has fallen, Stan that has screwed up, not him. The crowd is never so united as when they have someone else to ostracise._

_He doesn't know if Stan senses the change in atmosphere as he walks into the changing room before the game. Certainly there are a lot of stares at the black-haired boy, sneers, nudges between the players. Stan doesn't seem to see it. He is focused, as he always is before a game, but he seems happy. Dreamy almost. Clyde has seen this expression on Stan's face quite a bit recently and it makes him wonder if the picture he has seen represents some group moment of madness or if there is actually something serious between the three of them. But that's impossible, right?_

_Mitchell Curtis, the biggest, nastiest player on the team looks over at Stan as he pulls on his shirt – they have all avoided looking at him while he was changing, in case the gay was catching. There is a flat smirk on his face, the expression of someone mean preparing to tease. "Hey Marsh. You're putting on weight. Been eating too much kosher lately?"_

_This is actually a pretty standard comment, the typical exchange between teenage boys looking to score points by accusing their peers of being gay, easily ignored. Stan has been hearing things like this his whole life, Clyde knows. But things are different now and he sees his chance to secure his own position and let Stan know that his time in the sun is over._

"_Don't be stupid," he says in a slightly bored voice, although there is a small smirk playing on his lips. Stan gives him an inquisitive look, not expecting any assistance from Clyde, or any hassle for that matter, since they are peripherally friends._

"_Stan and Kyle are more into Cajun," he says sneakily, feeling both thrilled to have this opportunity to score points and mildly sick, barely recognising his own need to be cruel. "Y'know, jambalaya, crayfish – po' boy sandwiches..."_

_The locker room immediately erupts with mocking, harsh laughter and Clyde joins in, although he can see through Stan's expression right away. He is trying to look confused, but all his muscles are tense and the look in his eyes is fearful and trapped. Stan knows that he has been found out and a part of him already suspects what this will mean for the rest of the school year. Perhaps the rest of his life. And not just his own life._

_No one chooses to expand on the topic, for now the sly jokes tell their own story. Better to let Stan wait in misery for the worst to happen, let him stew. Or so Clyde honestly believes._

_Stan's leg is shattered and his future along with it half an hour into play. Although it will never be proven it was anything but an accident, Clyde can see from his position the looks that pass between the players in the moments before the tackle, when three members of his own team drive Stan into the mud and put him in the hospital until the day they bury his best friend and beyond. _

_Clyde stands and watches the action with his jaw hanging, stunned as Stan is stretchered from the pitch. In the distance, he can see both Kyle and Kenny in the stands, obviously frantic. They vanish for the ambulance and Clyde loses sight of them and anyway, they have a game to play. He knows without being told that he will never breathe a word of what he saw, he will insist that it was sheer accident with every breath. There are sides here and he is not on Stan's. Stan is not The Man any longer, they do not need him. The brighter a star shines, the more satisfying it is to see it fall._

_The Cows lose the game._

_The team are subjected to the coach screaming at them afterwards, about Stan's injury, their stupidity in what they have done. They do not need to be told that this could be the end of Stan's hopes for going pro, that much was made clear by the odd angles his leg made as they saw him lying in the mud. The coach is red-faced and Clyde feels resentful, he was half-way across the pitch when it happened, why is he here with the rest of them? Because Stan was the star player and the coach just saw the season and the player that might have made his name vanish into the abyss in a moment of teenage punishment for daring to be different._

_The coach sprays spit across the room as he screams and just as he is gearing for real anger, Kenny McCormick of all people saves them by walking into the locker room and quietly asking if he can get Stan's things. The coach breaks off and gives Kenny a sympathetic look, asking how Stan is doing. Kenny, who has been to the hospital already and returned, informs him that Stan is about to go into surgery. The coach nods and allows Kenny to get Stan's things, turning to the team. _

"_Do you see what you've done?"_

_The coaches voice is low and pained. Clearly he thinks there are worse things than a losing season. He emphasises this opinion by cutting the three players that injured Stan from the team, ignoring their cries of outrage and telling them to change and get out of his sight._

_There is real anger and genuine resentment as they shower and dress, unable to believe that they are being punished for what could easily have been an accident. Kenny walks past them with a look of deep hatred and for a moment, Clyde feels ashamed of himself. Then he shakes the feeling, he has no reason to be and anyway, if Stan had not been messing around with _men_, he would not have been injured. It's his own fault and everything he deserves._

"_McCormick doesn't know that we know about them," says one guy in a snarl as they shower. Clyde nods thoughtfully. Stan couldn't have told his lovers they had been exposed before the game and it was unlikely he considered it important while writhing in agony in an ambulance. Kenny probably has no idea what happened, only that it hurt Stan._

_The majority of boys finish their showers, dress, slip away silently and shame-faced, not wanting to prolongue the event any further. There are nine of them that remain, the three boys cut, Mitchell, Clyde, four others too angry or eager to merely accept the blame and go home. As a group, they leave the locker room with their things, ready to drown their sorrows with a few beers and maybe raise some hell – it has been a bad day for the team and they need to blow off their anger and resentment somehow. Most of the crowd have already left, no need to stick around with the home team the losers and the star player crippled. The players vehicles are the only ones still in the rapidly darkening car park. _All_ the players cars._

_Stan's car is in its customary place and there is someone behind the wheel. It takes Clyde a moment to realise it is Kenny, although he doesn't know why Kenny would still be in the area rather than driving away immediately. But then, Kenny doesn't know that they have discovered his sexual deviancy and probably doesn't realise he has anything to be concerned about._

_He is sadly mistaken about that._

_Mitchell strides over to the car, pulls open the driver door and drags Kenny out by the scruff of his neck. Kenny is off-balance and lands on his knees by the side of the car, looking up at them in confusion. Clyde can see right away why Kenny has not driven away already and been taken by surprise, his eyes are reddened and slightly damp, he has clearly taken the moment alone in the car to cry. Mitchell sees it too and his grin widens._

"_What's up faggot? Crying over your boyfriends boo-boo?"_

_Kenny's red-rimmed eyes narrow and a flash of understanding goes over his face. His fists clench and Clyde can see him judging his situation – on his knees, surrounded by some of the biggest guys in school, out for his blood – and not liking it one bit. But Kenny doesn't speak, maybe not knowing how to talk himself out of the situation. Kenny's actions have always spoken for him, he is quiet most of the time and not good with words. _

It won't be too bad_ Clyde reassures himself as the circle closes around Kenny. The blonde tries to get to his feet, only to be caught off-balance with a shove from Mitchell, he falls back against the car but does not go down. _We're only going to rough him up a little and it's not like we're gonna kill him and even if it did, he'll just come back._ These justifications go through his head, along with __memories of sharing an elementary school class with Kenny, the times that Kenny has sacrificed himself for the good of other people. But that does not stop him from joining in._

_It is short, but brutal. Kenny never stands a chance, not against all of them, not when they are so filled with righteous indignation. To Clyde, it seems to go on forever and he is terrified the entire time. But he gets his licks in, oh yes he does._

_It ends with Kenny lying on the floor, one arm clasped loosely around his chest where he has received several vicious kicks, blood running down his face from his busted nose and split lip. His knuckles are cut and bleeding, a lucky shot getting another player in the jaw. But it was never going to be enough._

_Mitchell brings back his leg as the rest of them back away a little, kicking Kenny square in the balls. Kenny moans, too pained to even raise a good cry, writhing on the asphalt. Mitchell hawks and spits on Kenny, the glob landing on his injured cheek and sliding down. Kenny cannot raise his hand to wipe it off and Clyde feels sudden disgust, not for Kenny but for himself and the people he calls his friends. He sees them from the outside, a cruelly mocking group surrounding someone who cannot fight back._

"_Don't bother coming back to school," says Mitchell, his voice gloating. "Bad enough one faggot looking at us in the shower, you find any fucking excuse to check us out. Fucking queer." He finally steps back, glancing at the others and Clyde realises dimly that they are all conspirators here, bound together by this act whether he wants to be a part of it or not. It is too late to change his mind now._

"_Two down," says Mitchell with a laugh. "One to go. Next it's the Jew's turn to get fucked up..."_

_Kenny erupts from the ground roaring. It is as if he has shrugged off all the pain, all the injuries, and remembered the street rat he is. Perhaps, Clyde thinks, it was a mistake to threaten Kyle in front of him._

_Mitchell clearly was not expecting retaliation, as he turns back to Kenny, the boy headbutts him directly on the bridge of his nose. Mitchell howls in pain, staggering backward and then Kenny is attacking all of them at once, a whirling dervish in their centre. The move scares them all and for a few confused moments, they are trying to retreat rather than fight._

_Clyde is struck by a fist that catches him glancingly on the temple, stars going off behind his eyes. He lashes out instinctively, gripping Kenny's ratty coat and shoving him hard. Kenny falls back, his legs not able to support him after the beating he has taken and he stumbles. His head hits the side of Stan's car and he crashes to the ground, unmoving._

"_Fuck." Mitchell gives Clyde a glance that is both amused and grudgingly admiring. "You killed Kenny."_

"_Bastard," pipes up another player and they all burst into laughter. Clyde joins in, slightly shakily. He does not want to be a part of this any more. He wants to take it all back._

"_Leave him there," says Mitchell dismissively and the entire team disregards the boy, making for their cars and leaving him where he is. Clyde included. They never look back and that is why they do not realise Kenny is not dead and they do not realise it until Kenny arrives at the funeral still bearing the marks of the savage beating._

Ike tries to keep his expression impassive, but he is not sure that Clyde falls for it, the man takes a small glance at him and promptly looks away. Hearing how Clyde was swept up in the mob mentality sickens him, but hearing about who was next on their hit list is worse. Because they had gotten to Stan already and it sounds as if Kenny belonged in the hospital right next to him. Which left only Kyle... and later on that night, something even worse had happened to him.

"So you left Kenny for dead," he says and he can hear the scorn in his voice, the utter disgust. "Where to next? A little game of hunt-the-Jew?"

"No!" Clyde tightens his grip around the bottle. "Nothing like that. We knew Kyle would still be at the hospital, wouldn't be out for hours. There was no _point_ going looking for him. Most of the guys had worked off their anger on Kenny anyway. We took off as fast as we could, went to Mitchell's place. Had a bit of a party, huh. It was the weirdest party I ever went to, no one knew if we should be happy or pissed, what with half the team cut all at once. We all got wasted. By the time ten rolled around, no one was capable of driving to South Park, snatching Kyle, driving him to the observation deck, hauling him the walk and throwing him off the edge. Most of us weren't capable of crossing the room without clinging to the walls."

"So you don't know what happened to Kyle?"

"_We_ didn't happen to him. We weren't capable and anyway..." Clyde snorts slightly. "There was time. Kyle wasn't like Kenny. We could get away with beating the shit outta Kenny, call what happened to Stan an accident and maybe even believe it, but we couldn't get away with that shit with Kyle. We kick the crap outta him then, there'd be comeback. But if we spread that picture around, we could get away with it, might even get beaten to it. No comeback for us, a shitload for him and his boyfriends not even around to stop it. We could just sit there and watch that smug look get wiped right off his face."

Ike wants to remind Clyde that it is his _brother_ they are talking about, but does not. Clyde might speak less freely if he is monitoring his words out of some fucked-up deference to Ike. His fists are clenched but he has no illusions about using them, even now Clyde could beat him without breaking a sweat and Ike has never in his life been in a real fight.

"You didn't see Kyle after Stan got taken away?"

"Nope. That was the last time any of us laid eyes on him, while he was panicking around the ambulance."

Ike nods. "One thing I don't get. The picture Bebe took, the one you all had. It never got out. Even though any number of people knew about it, no one ever let it go public, so to speak. Why not?"

"You're joking, right?" Clyde shakes his head, looking amused at disbelieving. "After all that shit? Look, we were gonna add it to the school website that night, hack the system but none of us were that good and we were pretty wasted when we started. We were gonna get one of the nerds to do it the next day, only the next day Kyle turned up dead. What happened to Stan could have been an accident and probably no one would take what had happened to Kenny seriously, just school scraps and who gives a shit about them? But you throw in a body – a _real_ body, not the kid who comes back all the time – and that picture, what happened to the other two in it... we didn't have anything to do with what happened, but who'd believe us? It was a hell of a coincidence, might have been classed as a motive. We'd be under suspicion, even if we could prove we weren't there. There'd always be that suspicion."

"You covered it up." Ike feels as if there is a vein on his forehead, pulsing angrily. "You hid what was going on between them to save your own asses."

"Yeah." Clyde gives him a stare that dares Ike to comment further. "We covered it up. And it wasn't like Stan and Kenny came forward either. Look, it wasn't us. And it worked out better for everyone. No slur to Kyle's memory, no one in town knows about it with everyone who saw the picture scattered. We deleted it that very day. From Bebe's and Mitchell's phones, from the computer. It doesn't exist any more."

"And if a few people talked about Kenny, how his best friend ended up dead and he looked like he'd been in a fight, it didn't matter. If he lived the rest of his life in this town under that suspicion, it didn't matter. Because it wasn't you." Ike does not care if he is being cruel. This whole thing is so bigoted and petty and if he had the chance, he would grab every one of the people involved and force them to see themselves for what they are, what damage they caused. For all the good it would do, he is not sure they would be capable of realising it.

"Right. It wasn't me." Clyde scowls. "And Kyle dying had nothing to do with us. We just – hid any reason we might have had. And really, we did all three of them a favour by doing it."


	8. Living After We Die

**Author Note: **Huge thanks go out to my awesome reviewers, NotebookChen, xxSay, let's point out the obvious and Evil Chibi Kitten! You guys always make me grin with sheer delight at the comments.

This is a short chapter, followed by a longer-than-usual chapter. I could have split the next chapter, but it didn't seem to flow quite right if I did that. No flashback either. So I hope you enjoy it and hopefully, in spite of my insane computer woes (it's dead and I'm typing on a temperamental back-up) the next chapter will be up in only a few days.

-:-:-:-

_Let's do some living after we die..._

-:-:-:-

Ike finds himself even less hungry when Clyde's breakfast arrives, the waitress interrupting the silence between them with a plate of fried foods that only an hour or so earlier Ike would have welcomed; now, the smell makes him feel like he might throw last nights beer back up again. He knows he cannot stay and make small talk with Clyde Donovan, or ask for his best Kyle stories and Clyde apparently does not expect him to, because he reaches for his cutlery and pauses.

"I don't think there's anything else I can tell you," he says shortly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to eat my breakfast in peace."

Ike nods, rises. "Thanks for talking to me," he says, manners dictating that he gives Clyde this at least and he is glad that he has the story of what happened after the game now. But the thanks feel bitter on his lips. Had it not been for the small-minded actions of those people, things could have been different. More difficult for his brother certainly – but at least he might have been alive.

He takes his leave, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks down the street, his destination in mind. The sky has not lightened much and the air has a definite bite to it, Ike lived in South Park until he was twelve and he knows the signs of imminent snow. But the weather is not on his mind and in truth, nor is what he might say when he reaches his destination. His thoughts revolve entirely around what Clyde has told him and with those thoughts come unwanted but not unexpected feelings of anger.

What Clyde said to him haunts him, about how there were people who knew his brothers secret. Why they covered it up. It pains him to think of it, that they acted out of concern for themselves and not Kyle. That if Kyle had not died, they would have destroyed his life with casual ease, chasing him from school to home to the hospital where Stan languished, through cyberspace, over the phone. Ike knows already that something would have given. Probably Kyle's infamous temper would have come into play and probably over something done or said to either Stan or Kenny – the latter being more likely with Stan having the illusion of hospital protection.

But it makes Ike so furious.

Even more annoyingly, he believes Clyde's story. The alibi could well be a lie, but then why would he have told Ike anything at all about what happened then? It hardly puts the man in a good light and cast more suspicion onto him.

And more suspicion on Kenny, in a way. The trouble with Kenny's story has always been his piss-poor alibi, his lack of explanation for the bruises and the timing of the whole affair. But if Kenny took Stan's car that day, then he could easily have taken Kyle to the observation deck in the time frame given by the medical examiner. Although as the cop said, that Kenny had the beating prior to Kyle's death makes it unlikely he would have been able to do anything to the redhead. From what Clyde has said, it sounds as if he could barely move

Ike has never really known how to deal with being angry and frustrated. There is so little that can't be changed with a carefully thought out plan, in his experience at least, and coming up against something that will not be made right no matter what he does, the sheer human capacity for cruelty, leaves him alternately terribly sad and filled with an impotent, directionless rage. Partly on Kyle's behalf – although he does believe that the football team were not responsible for what happened to Kyle, his brother is still dead. But much of it is for the two men his brother apparently loved, that they were punished so harshly for daring to step out of the mould. The injustice of it all shakes him to his core.

Ike takes a breath to try to calm himself, wondering what Keiran would make of what Clyde has told him. He could do with someone calmer to give an opinion on all this, someone who is not as close to the situation to just listen, the way Keiran listened last night. He tries to think what the man would say when he heard all this. Probably he'd snort at Clyde's behaviour, disgusted but not surprised. Say something along the lines of _it's a dirty world run by the conformists and the only way to get through is to conform as well, or refuse to let the bastards win. Kyle fought the bastards, you should be proud._

Ike manages an angry grin, knowing that he has superimposed his own bitter, juvenile reasoning onto his thoughts of Keiran and also knowing that it is what he wants to hear right now. Keiran manages to calm him down by saying the right thing though, so is it so far from the truth? And even the thought of Keiran has calmed him down, he is no longer focusing all his rage on Clyde, his rage is diverted by thinking of his – his lover, he supposes.

He is not the type to welcome the intrusion of casual flings in his life, nor is he the kind to think of a fling as anything more than what it is. But Ike finds Keiran a comfort to him and a part of him can't help wondering why Keiran has chosen to get involved with him, knowing why Ike is back, if he regrets it at all or if he will avoid Ike for the rest of his stay. If he does, Ike will understand, but he will be sorry. He likes Keiran, a whole lot.

And somewhere along the line, he has started thinking of Keiran instead of concentrating on what he has found out. He puts his attention back to where it should be, a little surprised his thoughts have wandered.

_So we have a timeline_ says Kyle inside his head and Ike nods, not caring if the action brings him a couple of odd looks. He has the order of events, give or take a few major gaps. Friday night, Stan and Kenny slept over at Kyle's house, where they were seen by Bebe, who shared the news. Saturday morning, they went to the game, Kyle and Kenny watching as Stan was hurt. The three of them left in the ambulance, Stan stayed in the hospital. Kyle remained with him but Kenny went to get Stan's things and was beaten to a pulp. The football team went to a party in another town. Kyle left the hospital, went to see Kenny – and somewhere along the line, ended up dead.

And that is why Ike ends up at Kenny's apartment at the early hour, cursing to himself as he rings the bell. There is still no reply and he rests his hand against his forehead, wondering what his next move should be. He needs to talk to Kenny, but Kenny does not seem to want to make it easy.

As he stands considering, a woman lets herself out of the door, a purse over her shoulder. She looks at him and gives him a small smile, perhaps wondering what he is doing there and Ike takes advantage of the attention, giving her his most charming smile. "Um, excuse me. I was looking for Kenny McCormick?"

"Would you happen to be Ike?" she asks and her smile gets bigger at Ike's startled expression. "It's okay, Kenny said you might ring my bell looking for him. And he said that if you do, I was to tell you that he's coming to look for you later on. He'll catch up to you."

A frown crosses Ike's face. "He said he'd come to see me?"

"Yeah, but y'know. He had things to do first." The woman adjusts the strap of her bag, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly expecting him to take off.

Ike doesn't like this. He doesn't like the idea of Kenny avoiding him, picking when it is convenient to speak with Ike rather than just being a man about it and answering the questions he has. He certainly doesn't like the thought of waiting around all day and hoping that Kenny shows up, when there is no guarantee that he will.

"Do you know where he is now?" Ike asks the woman, a little desperation creeping into his voice.

The woman gives him a look that is part sympathy and Ike wonders if she has heard the gossip about his return. He does not recognise her and she seems too old to be in either his or his brothers circle of friends, but that does not mean she has no knowledge of him. "He didn't say," she says, looking a little hesitant and Ike suspects that it is the truth, but not the whole truth. This is confirmed when she speaks again, her words coming out in a rush. "But I know where he spends Saturday mornings, I don't think he'd change his routine now."

Ike tilts his head, wondering how she knows. He doesn't think Kenny would share the information with her, she does not come across as a close friend. But her demeanour makes him deduce she thinks a lot more of Kenny than she would tell a casual stranger. Perhaps, he thinks with a flash of humour, that she thinks of him as damaged and in need of love. Maybe she's even right.

She gnaws at her lip as if debating whether or not to say anything. "The cemetery. He goes to the cemetery. When he's alive, he goes there every Saturday without fail."

Ike nods, but he feels a chill go through him that has nothing to do with the weather. "Thanks," he says softly, leaving the area and going in that direction. The cemetery, damn. Perhaps he should have known it, Kenny spends plenty of time beneath its soil and didn't Henrietta say that he took care of Kyle's grave?

Kyle's grave.

Ike has not yet been to the cemetery, because he knows the answers he seeks will not be there. All that is there is a headstone with his brother's name and a pine box holding the shell that was once Kyle Broflovski, after ten years probably unrecognisable. Ike feels slightly ill at the thought. His brothers legacy should be the things he did while he was alive, the lives he touched, not the corpse under the ground.

A part of him thinks it would have been appropriate to visit the cemetery as soon as he got to town, say hello to unhearing stone and announce his intent. But it was Kyle's memory he was chasing, not his earthly remains and he wanted to go to the grave with more answers, have it as his final stop before he left South Park forever. His Judaism was all but abandoned after his brother died but he does believe there is _something_ more than human experience knows. He also believes that if Kyle's spirit is anywhere, it is not lurking around a grave and watching for who visits. But because it is a tangible marker, it was the place where Ike would have decided to make whatever speech he felt the need – only now he is going there not with answers or closure, but more questions.

But it feels like the right time to chase up Kenny, the right thing to do. And he does not doubt he will return before he leaves... and it will be nice to be even a little closer to his brother before going about finding out what Kenny has to say about the situation.

The cemetery is a generous size, but it is the only one in town, explaining the need for the space. It is not segregated into the different religions, the town is not diverse enough to allow it. The older graves are to the left of the entrance, enough of their descendants in South Park that burials still occur there. The right side is for those who have been interred in the last thirty years or so and it is to this side that Ike goes. His grandmother was the first Broflovski to be buried here some eighteen years ago; he recalls clearly that Kyle was buried alongside her.

He recognises some of the family names here too, as he walks through the stones to find those ten years standing. People he has not thought of in years, parents or grandparents of his classmates. Perhaps even a few of the classmates themselves. The graves are laid in neat rows and he checks out names and dates, that feeling that time passes too rapidly and lives end too soon that always overtakes him in graveyards strong. One of the graves is bare of grass as if it has been dug up sometime in the not-too-distant past, oddly naked in comparison to the others. Ike looks at the stone and is unsurprised to see the name KENNETH JAMES McCORMICK embossed into it, no dates and no final words.

He shivers, feeling creeped out and wishing that Keiran had been able to accompany him. The man spent huge amounts of his childhood and no doubt adolescence here and his presence would have been a comfort.

But Ike too spent time here as a child; in the days before the Broflovski's left town he visited Kyle's grave daily, staring morbidly at the stone for far too long, until his fingers were numb, body shivering with cold, tears cutting warm tracks over his frozen cheeks. It might have been a long time, but he can find his way still.

There is someone already there.

Ike slows as he approaches Kyle's grave, taking note of the figure staring at his brother's final resting place. That it is a man is obvious, he stands a shade over six foot, wearing dark jeans and a jacket that has clearly been purchased with keeping out the Colorado chill in mind. But Ike can make out nothing more of him, because the man has his back to him. And although his head is bowed, Ike can clearly make out the hood that covers his head.

His steps are slowing, but Ike continues to move forward, his feet crunching over the snow covered grass. The man pays him no attention although he must hear, merely keeps his head down and his hands in his pockets until Ike draws level with him and finally stops.

The man turns his head to look at Ike and Ike can see that he has zipped his jacket up practically to his nose, only his eyes showing. Those depthless blue eyes that he used to see almost every day back then.

_Kenny _whispers the Kyle inside Ike's head, although Ike has never heard the voice quite so awestruck, perhaps a symptom of Ike's search for the man, or what he has learned about his brother's feelings for him.

"Hey Ike," Kenny says evenly, the coat muffles his voice but Ike can understand every word.. "I heard you were looking for me."

"Yeah." Ike wishes Kenny were not quite so bundled up. It means he cannot see how the years have been to the man and it is as if Kenny has remained changeless while Ike himself has grown up; it is an uncomfortable feeling, like being shoved into a rabbit hole of memories and being partially submerged by his own past, and Kyle's. "I thought you were avoiding me."

"Oh, I was," replies Kenny. "Now I'm not." He falls silent again, no explanation forthcoming. His behaviour throws Ike off totally.

"Did you know I'd come here looking for you?"

Kenny shrugs, eyes on Kyle's grave. "I was pretty sure you'd be here at some point. But I wasn't here waiting for you, if that's what you think. I spend a lot of time in the neighbourhood..." He gestures with his head, a single jerk in the direction of his own grave. "Thought I'd stop by here before I let you find me."

Ike considers suddenly what it must be like for Kenny to know that for a short time at least, his body rests close to Kyle's and shivers.

"I was wondering what Kyle would think about me talking to you," said Kenny, his voice slightly distant. "But it's not like he ever talks back."

His head turns sharply, as if tearing his eyes from that simple stone is an act of physical effort. But if it is, it is easier once that name and those dates are out of his view. Ike thinks that somewhere behind the hood, Kenny is smiling, but if he is, it is doubtless tinged bitter.

"So, Ike," he says, friendly, open. "Why are you back here? I would have thought once you were far away, you'd never _want_ to come back."

"I'm here for Kyle," replies Ike. "It's – complicated. I wanted to know more about him I guess, chase up some old memories. Only I'm finding out stuff that I didn't know back then and the more I hear, the more I think... I was always told it was an accident and I never questioned that, but what people are telling me is just strange. I would have looked you up anyway, even before I knew what I know now, but knowing you saw him that night..."

"Do you think I killed him?"

"You were the last person to see him alive," returns Ike defiantly. Kenny merely looks back at him and Ike drops his gaze, sighs. "No. I don't think you did. I'd go so far as to say I _know _you didn't. I didn't think it was possible anyway and after what Clyde said, it just proves it."

Kenny nods casually. "Clyde Donovan, what a waste of fucking space. Never thought for himself one time. Just another baying extra in the pack."

"People can change," says Ike quietly.

"Perhaps." Kenny shoves his hands in his pockets. "You'll just have to forgive me for not seeing the good in anyone involved in that whole deal that day. Fuck, you didn't come here to hear this. You wanted to find out some stuff about Kyle? I thought you'd have a lot of memories of him, good ones. Big brother was always sticking his neck out for you."

Ike feels a lump in his throat and tries to swallow it. He remembers, of course he does. How protective of him Kyle was and all the things he'd do to make Ike's life easier. They had their moments as siblings always do, but for the most part the Broflovski brothers were incredibly close.

"I have good memories," he says. "It's just – I guess I just needed to know that I wasn't the only person who remembered him."

Kenny looks back at the grave, then at Ike again. The coat makes his expression unreadable, but his eyes seem sad. "Take a look at this," he says. "Clearly, you're not the only person who remembers him. I think of Kyle all the fucking time, him and..." He seems to catch himself before he can complete the sentence. "Look, I don't think I can help just by spouting off random memories. It'd be stupid anyway, I was one of his best friends. If I told you everything, we'd be here all day."

Ike nods. "I have some questions, but uh, this might not be the best place. And it's cold. And honestly? It feels morbid to be talking about it here. Kyle wasn't a morbid person and we both know it."

"He had his moments," replies Kenny fondly. "He was never emo-goth or anything, but Kyle could be as morbid as the next guy when he wanted. I take your point though. My place is closer than the motel. You want coffee?"


	9. Crept In Your Room

**Author Note: **My huge thanks to J.E. McCormickGal, let's point out the obvious, NoteBookChen, xxSay and everyone who was reading over the latter two readers shoulders! It actually makes me no end of happy to think of FF account holders hanging out in Real Life, possibly because my friends think I'm a little strange to be writing fanfic, lol.

I've been so busy of late that I haven't had huge amounts of time to write – that this chapter was written save for about five paragraphs and didn't get updated until today says it all really. I hope you won't give up on me, the update might be a little slower coming at the moment, but the story is still alive and kicking!

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_Crept in your room, woke you from your sleep to make love to you..._

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The inside of Kenny's apartment does not reflect the neighbourhood it is in. It is neater than Ike would have imagined, having had visions of bachelor-esque squalor. But everything has a place and although there is a plate on the coffee table with the barely-eaten remnants of pop-tarts on it and an empty cup beside it, the room is otherwise well cared for.

Kenny follows Ike's gaze and snorts. "I used to swear every day that once I lived away from home, I was never gonna eat another pop-tart. But sometimes I get the taste for 'em. The McCormick version of home comfort." He unzips the jacket. "You want coffee? You're not exactly dressed for the weather if you're used to the warm."

"I'm not really cold, but a coffee would be good thanks." Ike doesn't sit as Kenny goes into the kitchen. Instead, he examines some of the décor. Kenny clearly doesn't really go in for possessions but there is a shelf stacked with books, another shelf far more taken up by DVDs. No statues or souvenirs – but there _is_ a picture. Ike looks at it for long moments. Seventeen year old Kenny McCormick is in the centre, beaming. Stan Marsh is on his left, smiling at the camera, resting comfortably against the blondes side. And on his right is Kyle, looking slightly crazed and with an arm just going behind Kenny, as if he was in motion when the picture was taken.

"Kyle took it," says Kenny from behind him and Ike gives an unmasculine squeak of alarm, whipping around. Kenny has discarded the jacket and it is Ike's first good look at the man since they buried Kyle. He finds himself looking more for changes than he is for similarities. Kenny is clearly older than he looked back then, but that seems to be the only real change in his appearance. He still has the same no-style blonde hair, that same slightly underweight body, the same type of clothes. Even that crooked smile is the same – but Ike can see a sadness in it that was not so clear when he was younger, mirrored in his eyes.

Kenny extends his arm, a cup of coffee in his hand. Ike takes it, checking out Kenny's arms. Keiran did not mention where he did the tattoo and although Kenny wears a plain shirt that exposes his lower arms, the skin above the elbows is hidden. Kenny looks back at the picture. "He had this camera with a timer, we never could work the timer out. We'd always end up with the weirdest pictures. I think that was about the best of them."

He takes a seat on the couch and after a slight pause, Ike sits down beside him and takes a sip of his coffee. The furniture is IKEA but seems new enough, the couch is not the traditional second-hand mongrel he had suspected it would be and in the corner is a large workspace with an expensive computer and all the accessories are top of the line. It seems to be where Kenny spends most of his time. The TV is large and up-to-date, the gadgets in the room are just what he would have expected from a single man with a decent disposable income. Although he has been led to believe that Kenny does not work overmuch thanks to his habit of frequently dying.

"What do you do now Ken?"

"Tech support," says Kenny with a slight smirk. "I can work from home and it has flexible hours. The company thinks I'm sick and I need to be able to work around some illness. It's almost true, I put in as much time as anyone else and they get to say they don't discriminate. Everyone wins."

"You live alone?"

"Yeah." Kenny looks at Ike over the top of his cup. "You didn't come here to find out what I've been doing for the last ten years."

Ike sighs. Kenny is clearly no longer used to casual talk with other people, Ike certainly doesn't recall him being so abrupt even if he did always speak his mind back in the day. "No, I guess I didn't. Kenny... I know what was going on with you and Kyle and Stan."

Kenny nods, as if he has expected this. "You always were the smart one. Did Kyle tell you? Because he was always so careful to _be_ careful around you and he never said."

"No. I didn't know back then." Ike rests the cup on his knee. "I found out when I got here – kinda. I went to see Tweek Tweak and he knew about Kyle and Stan and there was this other guy, Craig? He knew about you and Kyle."

"He did?" Kenny looks surprised. "I can see how Tweek couldn't mention it, but I dunno why Craig kept it to himself. Or even how he found out."

"Craig said you'd just – got back."

"Ah. We were probably a little bit less careful then." Kenny sighs. "Although just before it all hit the fan, I think we'd been lulled into a sense of security. It had been ages and no one even suspected. Not even Cartman and honestly, he spent more time with the three of us than anyone else. We started taking chances, just little things like – well, y'know, the usual. Slight touches, lingering looks, private jokes, all the usual stuff. I guess that's how they found out."

"No." Ike shakes his head. "It was just shit luck." He looks over at Kenny, hardly able to believe that he didn't know what had led up to them being found out – but who was going to tell him? From what Clyde had said, they never got to tell Stan about the picture and Kenny didn't get an explanation either. And if Kyle had ever found out about it, it hadn't been from his boyfriends. He debates telling Kenny how he was found out and decides against it, that was probably the last time the three of them were intimate and he does not want to sour the memories of it by telling Kenny it led to them being outed. If Kenny asks, he will tell the story – but he does not ask. Maybe he realises that the information will do him no good.

"Kenny." Ike puts the cup aside and bites his lip, wondering how he can best put what he has to say. "I'm sorry to ask, but – you were the last person to see Kyle alive that night. And I need to _know_."

Kenny nods, not looking at Ike. "What do you need to know?"

"Clyde told me about what happened in the parking lot, but they took off when they thought you were dead. Spent the rest of the night at Mitchell's house getting blind drunk and congratulating each other..." Ike stops as he realises he sounds bitter and Kenny does not need this part of the trip down memory lane. "You weren't dead though, were you? What happened?"

"The same thing as everyone does when they get the living shit kicked out of them." Kenny discards his own cup. "I picked up my teeth and went home."

_Kenny does not know how he managed to get home. He came to as the last of the football teams cars were leaving the lot at breakneck speed, blinking a rivulet of blood from his eyes and moaning softly. He managed to get to his feet, get back in the car, start the engine. The journey home is mostly a blur though, getting back appropriately on autopilot. _

_He gets from the car and because it is Stan's, remembers to lock it. Thinking of Stan sends a wave of hurt through him that is much worse than the leaden agony in his back, the aching ribs that send sharp pains throughout his chest when he breathes, the steady throbbing in his head. He will heal, Stan may never be the same again._

_Had he died, he would have come back free of injury. But there is no way of telling how long this would have taken and this is why he is grateful to be alive. Stan will need him to be there while he goes through physio, or comes to terms with his broken limb and shattered future. He will need both of them._

_Kenny leans against the car and then forces himself to stand, he needs to get in the house and lie down... but more than that, he needs to speak to Kyle. He needs to put things into perspective. He needs to think about what has happened to them that day._

_He stumbles into the house, leaning heavily on the door and the walls as he makes his way to his room. As expected, his brother is nowhere in sight and his parents don't seem to be home, although he imagines they will be back soon with an evenings stash of booze. That's fine. He has his own stash, thieved from his parents a couple of months before and each blaming the other for drinking it all. At the time he felt a little guilty, now he is grateful he had that much foresight._

_Once in his room he collapses onto the bed, groaning loudly as the act sends more bolts of pain through him. Those bastards really fucked him up. He feels like he's been hit by a car doing five over the limit, something he has personal experience of. He breathes through the pain and without moving his body, reaches his arm out to open his underwear drawer. He paws through the boxers and socks blindly until he finds what he's looking for; a bottle of whisky. For a moment he lies, arm hanging off the bed, hand curled loosely around the bottle. Then he sits up with an effort, unscrewing the cap and taking a generous swig. Immediately, his throat heats up and the pain in his body seems to loosen its hold a little. _

_He looks through the drawer further and finds extra strength ibuprofen, another thing he has liberated from his parents. He takes two, pauses, takes another. Maybe not a good idea with the whisky chasers but he needs to dull the pain, especially in his ribs. He suspects one of them is cracked, perhaps two and it hurts like a bitch._

_He chews the pills dry while going into his pocket for his phone. If it has been busted, he's screwed – but it's an old model and tougher than the ones his friends have, also it was protected by his body when he fell. It seems to have escaped damage. His credit is dangerously low and he curses himself for being unable to get more in the last couple of days. But what the fuck was he going to buy it with, monopoly money? Fat chance. He never could afford a monopoly board._

_Kenny finds Kyle's number and calls; there is no point calling Stan's phone, which is in his car sitting in Kenny's driveway and not that he'd be able to answer right then even if he had it. His hand is slightly swollen, the knuckles torn where he hit one of his attackers with a lucky shot and even holding the phone is uncomfortable. He closes his eyes briefly and prays that Kyle will answer._

_His prayers go unanswered. Kyle's phone is turned off, hospital rules. It goes straight to his voice mail and Kenny mentally counts down the time he has left before his money is through. He can't even use the house phone, it's been off for two weeks now._

"_Kyle," he says as soon as the bleep sounds, slightly appalled at how hoarse his voice sounds. "It's me. Just – for fucks sake, be careful. Stan was right, they went after him on purpose and I think..." He coughs, trying to talk through it. He doesn't have the time for this. "I think they're gunning for us."_

_He cuts off the call, checks his credit again. He can make one text, not even enough for a call. He takes another drink of the whisky, starting to feel ten times better than he did. Which still isn't great but he'll take any improvement he can get. _

_Tentatively, he reaches up and touches his face. His right cheek feels puffy and that eye is rapidly puffing shut. There's a long cut on his forehead that has scabbed over, but it feels shallow. His lips are split. He probably looks like he went a round with Muhammad Ali. His clothes are grimy and there are traces of blood on them, especially the sleeve he used to rub blood from his eyes and face. Fuck. It's his only jacket._

_He is supposed to go to the hospital, be right there after picking up Stan's car. He's already overdue. If he can just take a shower, clean himself up some, he can change his clothes and show up not looking too much like a horror film. Maybe he can wear his hoody, draw the hood over his head and hide his face some. Maybe no one will notice. _

_Kyle will notice. _

_He lies on the bed, eyes slipping shut. He forces them open again, starts texting. If Kyle does not immediately listen to his voicemail, he will read a text. But he should be at the hospital before Kyle leaves, most likely the redhead will stay there until he is forced from the building or until Stan is awake again. This is just a precaution. _

_His eyes keep trying to close and he wonders distantly if he has accidentally overdosed. But fuck it, he needed those pills and that numbing alcohol. Like his dad always says, nothing kills the pain like spirits. He fights it. He has lost consciousness, isn't there some rule that he isn't to go to sleep?_

Be careful dude_ he texts, feeling a little spacy. It takes him a while to get the words right on the screen. _Im comin 2 pik u up. xx

_There might be a rule against xx as well, but he doesn't care. They know, that means everyone knows and it is too late to be cautious. Although _how _they know is still a mystery to him. It makes no difference anyway. Before he can press the send button, his eyes close once more and the phone falls from his grasp, landing on the bed. He sleeps, breathing heavily through his injured nose and split lips, dreaming of how it was between them when this whole thing first started. How worried they were about their motivations, about each other. And how they all came to deal with the fact that yes, it was possible for all of them to love each other equally. He could not imagine being with Stan and not Kyle, or the other way around._

_The dream, which was vague and surreal to begin with, intersects to what happened in the ambulance. How Stan had been white, breathing far to quickly, clearly in pain. He had barely been talking sense and how the ambulance driver only let both Kyle and Kenny ride along because Stan went ballistic at the thought of leaving either of them behind. _

"_Guys." Stan's eyes were glassy and Kenny wondered then if he knew what he was saying. The pain seemed to have put him into a delirium. "They tried to do it. They planned to do it because they know everything..."_

"_Stanny." Kyle's voice was soothing and low and as the ambulance drives off, he took Stan's hand. "It's okay. Just relax, don't try to talk. You'll be in hospital soon and they'll give you the good stuff, okay?"_

_It's not a good joke, so it was as well Stan didn't seem to hear. But his hand tightened around Kyle's and he reached out to Kenny, who took his other hand. Stan grits his teeth as the ambulance goes over a bump and beads of sweat stand out on his forehead. Kenny, who has always thought of Stan as some kind of superhero, wanted to cry._

"_I love you guys," said Stan clearly, eyes opening again. They seemed clear, in spite of his pinprick pupils. "Be careful. Please. They found out." Another jolt and he gripped their hands painfully. Kenny and Kyle locked eyes and Kenny can read the fear and upset in Kyle's green orbs. He was sure the same look was in his own._

_And then some noise nudges Kenny from his sleep and at first he is disoriented. He cannot work out why, if he has been dreaming, he still feels like shit. He places the sound instantly, someone clicking the light switch. But the bulb blew out almost a month ago and he has been too lazy to replace it, merely using a lamp beside the bed. The room is dark and he wonders when that happened. _

"_Stan?" But he knows it isn't. It wasn't so much a dream as a memory._

"_Not quite." Kyle's voice and he sounds pissed. Of course he does. One of his boyfriends has been put in hospital and the other has not returned when he said he would. Kenny wonders what the hell time it actually is. _

_Kenny sits up, wincing at the pain in his ribs and hoping that Kyle does not notice the pain. He might not, the room is dim and he is still isn't sure Kyle is even looking in his direction. But then Kyle is moving across the room and Kenny instinctively draws up the hood of his jacket, hoping to hide the worst of it. Maybe if he doesn't turn on the light... because Kenny is ashamed that he was beaten so easily. That he was face to face with the people who hurt Stan and he barely got a punch in. He is disgusted with himself. _

_He _blames_ himself. _

_Kyle gives him an odd look as he pulls his hood up and reaches for the light, pausing as his fingers brush against the whisky bottle. Kenny winces again. It was medicinal – but with his parents, his reputation, why the hell not believe that he sat home getting shitfaced while his boyfriend is undergoing surgery?_

"_You weren't sitting here getting drunk instead of going to the hospital," says Kyle, not angrily but as if it is a simple fact, like he has read Kenny's thoughts. And Kenny is ashamed of himself again; he should have known Kyle knows him better than the gossips in this hick town. _

_Kyle turns on the light and Kenny shies away from it, tries to hide his face. He's too late though, even if Kyle has missed the bruises on his face, he can still see the state of the clothes that Kenny has yet to change. _

_His hand reaches to the side of Kenny's face, gently guiding it around to look at him, his other hand drawing down the hood. Kenny allows him to do this, but keeps his eyes cast down. He feels as though he doesn't deserve this gentle touch, this consideration._

"_Oh Kenny..."_

_Kyle leans forward and kisses his split lips, feather light so as not to hurt him further. Kenny manages to look up and sees the expression on Kyle's face. The anger will come back later, he knows it will, but for the moment it has been wiped away by shock – and pain. Kyle is devastated by what has happened to him and Kenny feels horrible all over again._

"_Can you take off your jacket?"_

_Kenny doesn't want to. He wants only to hide what has happened, he doesn't want Kyle to see just how bad it is. But he can't say no to Kyle, he never has been able to. He looks down again and unzips his jacket, removing it gingerly. He wishes Kyle would not notice how the simple act causes him to ache fiercely, but he knows that he does. Beneath is his Cows shirt and he grimaces. He had to work damn hard for that shirt and he only ever wore it to show his support for Stan. Now, he feels dirty just having it against his flesh. He suspects he will never wear it again._

_Kyle takes the shirt off for him, carefully so that Kenny does not have to move too much. Kenny hears the sharp intake of breath as Kyle sees the marks on his torso, he himself has not dared to look and still does not have the courage._

_His head stays down, but Kenny's gaze goes upward. What he sees makes him pause. There are tears standing in Kyle's dark eyes, not the tears of rage and frustration that appear sometimes when he is screaming at someone. These are tears of real sadness and Kenny is not sure the boy even knows they are there. If he does, he clearly doesn't care._

_Kyle traces a thumb over Kenny's cheek and abruptly stands. "Stay here," he says, as if Kenny were planning to slip out of the window and go dancing the moment his back is turned. He leaves the room and Kenny leans back, wearily wondering what Kyle is doing. He hopes he is not calling anyone. He wants this to be a secret. He never wants anyone to know._

_But when Kyle returns a few minutes later, he is carrying a bowl of warm water, a couple of towels, the sad, elderly first aid kit that is unlikely to contain any actual supplies. Kyle is going to take care of him and the simple gesture makes Kenny feel uncharacteristically like crying. It has been a long, hateful day and his emotions were barely under control even before this. _

_Kyle sits beside him and pushes the long strands of blonde hair from his eyes, damping the corner of one of the towels and going about cleaning up Kenny's face. It feels good; Kenny had not realised just how dirty and puffy his skin felt until it starts to become clean. He closes his eyes as Kyle wipes them, immediately feeling slightly more alert and opening them again as Kyle's lips press against his forehead. A flush of guilt runs through him when he sees Kyle is crying. Only a little, but there is a tear track on his cheek and his eyes are glistening. It has been a shitty day for him too._

_Kenny casts his eyes away. "I'm sorry~"_

"No!"_ Kyle's voice is sharp and angry and hurt. Kenny looks back and opens his mouth to speak, but Kyle overrides him. "Don't be sorry Ken, don't be! This isn't your fault! How was getting beat up your fault?"_

_Kyle takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. "Who did it? What happened?"_

"_It was after I went to get Stan's things," says Kenny. "I was in his car, just – y'know, taking a breather before I went back to the hospital. They dragged me out and..." He puts his hand to his forehead, wanting to explain how it was, not sure how it would sound any less pathetic than it sounds to himself. "It was the team. They know, I don't know how but they said something about getting us all and how they already got to Stan..."_

_Kyle takes his hand, kissing his torn knuckles. "Ken, you were outnumbered and ambushed. There was nothing you could have done different and that's not even the point. They had no right Kenny. They didn't have the right to touch _either_ of you."_

"_And who's going to stop them?" Kenny met Kyle's eyes again, feeling as if everything they have is going to be dragged through the mud and made to sound dirty. It isn't. The relationship between the three of them is one of the few things in his life that has ever felt perfect and he doesn't want that to be ruined by the small minds and big mouths of a few hate-filled people._

_Kyle hesitates and Kenny wishes he hasn't spoken, even if it needed to be said. The three of them have hesitantly discussed what will happen when their secret gets out, as they always knew it would in the end – although they were hoping that by then, they would be done with high school and its dramas and would be left alone. That they would be proven successes in life and able to avoid too much scrutiny. Kenny knows that although Kyle claims to be a cynic, he did not think how ugly it could get, that they would be subjected to ridicule and maybe the occasional throwdown with a couple of drunks. He did not suspect this savagery. And Stan, who always wants to see only the best in people, honestly believed things would be rough for a while and then turn out okay._

_Kenny does not think of himself as a cynic, but he is a realist. In his experience, the worst one can imagine is usually only the tip of the iceberg. He only needs to look at his own life for evidence of that. And it is that life that made him hesitate to become involved with this triangle, once the initial buzz had worn off and the doubts set in. He was born into poverty, his life to date has been a series of tragedies and fuck-ups and his future has always promised more of the same. He has always known he will never leave South Park, just as he has always known that the men he loves will go far away and make successes of themselves. He has never resented them for this, he has always wished them well. Even though he has always thought that they will end up together and that he will not be a part of that, even though he has always loved them both._

_And then it happened, they became a trio rather than a couple. Stan and Kyle were his best friends, his true loves, his biggest supporters. With them to cheer him on, he started to think that maybe he would not be perpetually unlucky, that he may have earned this break and their love. With them behind him, he truly _believed_ that maybe things would be okay._

_Now this. Stan in the hospital, his dreams for the future crashed down. Kenny a bloody mess, unable to be by his side. And Kyle having to comfort them both, not knowing when it will be his own turn to feel physical retribution, but aware that it is coming, that and the derision of the whole town. _

_They did not afford luck to Kenny. Kenny merely infected them with his own brand of hardship._

"_They'll say what happened to Stan was an accident, that I'm lying to get them into more trouble." Kenny does not take his eyes from Kyle's. "They'll have witnesses to say they were nowhere near the lot when I was. They might even suggest I let myself get battered so that they would get into trouble. After all, who to believe? The bright stars of the school, or the dirt poor kid from those scumbag McCormicks who just got exposed as gay and perverted, corrupting the nice young men that you and Stan are?"_

"_I wish you wouldn't talk about yourself like that." Kyle continues to wash off Kenny's face, although Kenny suspects that the action is more to soothe him. It's working. "You are..." He pauses, gives Kenny a smile that reflects his depth of feeling for the blonde. "You are amazing. And if everyone knows about us, then so fucking what? I'm not losing you, either of you."_

"_It's my fault~"_

"_No. It isn't and you should know that it isn't." Kyle takes Kenny's face in his hand, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Don't give me any more of that hard-luck crap McCormick. Because of you, the three of us realised what we meant to each other and I've never felt luckier. Even now. We knew we'd come in for some crap and yeah, this is bad and don't think for a moment that they're gonna get away with it. But what's done is done and we can't change things and – this is _not _our fault. It's not _your_ fault. It's theirs. And the three of us will work things out, somehow."_

_He kisses Kenny again and delves into the first aid box, coming up with an elderly tube of antiseptic cream, some band-aids, a bandage and for some reason, a quarter of vodka. He sighs and puts them all away again, rethinks and removes the cream. _

"_The three of us were meant to be together." He squeezes cream onto his finger and applies it to the cut above Kenny's eye. "I know I usually don't go with that destiny crap but – I feel it. I know you do to, and Stan. It's _supposed_ to be us three."_

_He continues to apply the antiseptic to Kenny's face, while Kenny looks back at him, trying to memorise his features. The same way, he realises suddenly, as he tried to memorise Stan's back in the ambulance. Because he _is_ afraid. He is afraid that they will realise he is no good for them. He is afraid he will never see them again. _

_But Kyle's calm words give him some of his confidence back. The thugs who did this to him stole that, but he is once more starting to believe that maybe, he can be a better person, for them. Because they both deserve the best._

_Kyle looks down at his body and runs his hand over Kenny's chest. Although he is gentle, Kenny tenses, anticipating pain. Even breathing hurts, why would being touched be different? But it is. Kyle strokes his muscles and relaxes him, allows him to show Kyle the extent of the damage he is so desperately ashamed of. Nine-on-one nothing, he feels that in spite of that, he has failed some test of his manhood._

_Kyle's hands continue to move over him, but he does nothing to try to repair the damage. Kenny knows why, outwardly at least there are only bruises and there is nothing that can be done about that._

"_Oh, oh God Kenny." Kyle's voice sounds close to breaking. "You should be in the hospital too..."_

"_No, I can't~" Kenny sits straighter, wincing in pain but too distressed to worry that Kyle has seen it. "There's, I mean – Kyle, I can't." He swallows. "There's no money. No insurance company will touch me, not anymore. Not that we could afford it. And we don't have the money to pay for a doctor to look at me and the bills, oh fuck, we're still paying them off. I can't go to the hospital. They won't even look at me and it's not that serious anyway..."_

"_Kenny." Kyle puts soft pressure on his chest to push him back. "Okay. No hospital. But you have to rest."_

_Kenny lets Kyle push him back, allows himself the comfort of Kyle taking his hand and squeezing the antiseptic over his knuckles. The tube makes a sad farting sound that suggests it is almost empty. Kyle meets his eyes and they share small but genuine smiles over the noise._

_Kyle finishes with the antiseptic and leans over to kiss Kenny's lips, still being careful of his torn skin but definitely wanting to prove his point. Kenny finds himself reciprocating, the pain fading to a murmur._

"_I love you," says Kyle firmly, settling down to lie beside Kenny, leaning up on one elbow, the other arm going over Kenny's stomach. "I love both of you, but I love you, _you_. I love how you're so selfless, I love how you always make me laugh. I love how you make me feel important, the way you try to help the underdog, how the bullshit about cliques and dates never meant shit number one to you. The way you look at me, like you're reading my mind and sending your thoughts all at once."_

_He laughs, a little self-consciously. "I love watching you with Stan. That you share that look with him. The way you are when you're together like, sexually, but more the way you are when you're together _not_. How you laugh together, how you both stick up for each other. How you bump hands or hips or arms when you think no one can see you."_

_Kyle leans over, kisses the corner of Kenny's mouth. "I love you both. But that doesn't mean I love you by half. I love you so much, sometimes it scares me. And I love Stan that way too. And I know that's how you feel about me and each other. And I want you to feel like that."_

_He meets Kenny's eyes, reflecting his honesty. "I'm scared... but this is right. The three of us, it's _right_. And I won't let it go. It will all work out somehow."_

_And there, in the darkened room, Kyle makes Kenny believe again._

_Later they shower together, Kyle removing the last traces of blood and grime from Kenny's pale body with generic shower gel, the barely-warm water washing away all traces of their encounter, the things that a coroner might have taken note of in twelve hours time. He is gentle, careful, making Kenny feel truly loved all over again. Once they are finished they return to Kenny's room, Kyle finding him sweat pants that hang low on his skinny frame, insisting he wears a long sleeved shirt. Kenny is changing into these items when Kyle's phone rings, the redhead grabs for his pants to rescue it. Both of them are hoping for news of Stan._

_Kyle frowns as he checks the display and presses receive. "Hey Bebe."_

_If it is Bebe, then she's certainly not alone. Kenny freezes as he hears the drunken whoops coming from the phone, raucous catcalls and hollers and although he can't make out the words, he knows who it is. That much, he doesn't have to be told._

"_I'm coming for you assholes," says Kyle coldly and hangs up the phone, seeming to realise that there will only be more of the same and turning it off. He looks up at Kenny and raises his eyebrows, as if to ask why he's stopped and Kenny resumes putting his clothes on. He suddenly feels cold though, what if they are coming for them, tonight?_

_Some of what he is thinking must be reflected in his face, because Kyle reaches out to caress his cheek, smiles. "I could hear that stupid fucking terrier of Mitchell's going ballistic," he says. "They're all the way in North Park and if they try driving in that state, they'll pile into a tree. Might be the best thing for them."_

_Kenny allows himself to be reassured, but there is a knot of worry in his stomach. It's the look in Kyle's eyes, the one that he gets when Cartman has pushed him too far. There is no mistaking that look, Kyle is planning on payback. And Kenny is afraid for him._

_Kyle pulls on boxers and jeans, hustles Kenny into bed and pulls the covers over him. "I need you to get some rest," he says, kissing Kenny on the forehead. "We're gonna go back to see Stan tomorrow and we're gonna need to be strong for him. Tell him what happened."_

_Kenny smiles back, closing his eyes. He is afraid for Kyle true, but he knows the man well and he suspects that the people that fucked with them are in for a hell of a rude awakening. But that can be for tomorrow. He is genuinely tired, hurting less and he just wants this whole shitty day finished with – but as long as Kyle is there, they can weather this storm and come through on the other side._

_He hears Kyle moving around the room. He had assumed that the redhead would crawl into bed with him, but it sounds like he is gathering his clothes instead. When Kenny opens his eyes, he sees Kyle heading out of the bedroom. Immediately, his fear is aroused. "Where are you going?"_

"_Just to clear my head a little, grab you some more supplies." Kyle's face is calm but Kenny can sense that he is turbulent. As much as he wants to calm Kenny, he is madder than hell about what has gone on. "I won't be long. I promise."_

_He leaves. Kenny never sees him again._

"Ike." Kenny stares down at the table. "Kyle wasn't sick or nothing. And just eff-why-eye, he thought the world of you. We teased him about it sometimes, but Stan had the big sister who resented him and I had the big brother and the little sister who meant we had even smaller portions and I was angry as hell as them for that. We _envied_ how close you two were. I always thought Kyle hit lucky having a brother like you."

He tries to smile at Ike, but that old hurt is in his eyes. "It never really got out, not after Kyle was found dead. Maybe they were protecting themselves, but Kyle got to rest in peace. It works for me."

"You loved them." Ike's voice is soft and although he does not really understand, he empathises.

Kenny looks at him. "You have no idea. I loved both of them so much, it hurt sometimes to think of it. It's hurt ever since."

"That's one thing I _don't_ understand." Ike looks at Kenny, trying to read him. "If what you three had was so intense, then what happened that made you and Stan never see each other again? I know he was in the hospital for a while and the Marshes moved out of town, but didn't you guys even try to stay in touch, somehow?"

"No." Kenny's face is carefully neutral. "I broke it off."

"_Why?"_

"Because..." Kenny looks away from Ike, toward the wall. "Because Kyle being out at all was mostly my fault. If I hadn't got beat up he wouldn't have been mad, he wouldn't have gone to get fucking bandages and antiseptic or whatever he thought he needed for me. And if he'd been outside, I would have been too, or I would have been able to make him stay. And Stan was leaving, Sharon thought it'd be better for him with all the shit going on and Randy got a transfer, they'd be closer to the hospital he was at. He could make a new start without me dragging him down. It was better for him to have a clean break with this place, get over the whole thing, be happy. Not have to deal with South Park and the story that might get out if he came back. But mostly because I knew whenever Stan looked at me, he was thinking of Kyle and I couldn't keep hurting him like that."

He stops suddenly, as if deciding his mouth has run away with him. Ike frowns as he tries to digest the story. This whole weekend has sent his emotions on a dismal roller-coaster ride and right now, he is swinging back toward anger.

"You were selfish."

Kenny's eyes flash dangerously, but he makes no comment, although his eyebrow raises as if to ask for clarification.

"You were scared. You already lost Kyle and you were scared of losing Stan too. So you cut all ties and said you were doing it for Stan's sake, you probably even told him that."

"Maybe I was," says Kenny in a quiet voice, that has an undertone of steel to suggest that Ike drops the subject immediately. "It doesn't mean he isn't better off."

"Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't." Ike pauses, but his anger spills out the words anyway. "You split with Stan to punish yourself, didn't you?"

"...What?"

"You've already said Kyle dying was your fault, more than once. Perhaps you thought Stan would be better off because if you couldn't protect Kyle, you couldn't protect him either. And that you didn't deserve him."

"I didn't deserve him," says Kenny automatically, then frowns, but tiredly. "You're too much like your brother sometimes."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should." Kenny shakes his head. "Look, Stan was always gonna do well and I bet he is, now that the whole thing's behind him. He's living a normal life somewhere out there and I'm here with the weirdness."

"Maybe." Ike gives Kenny a solemn look. "Or maybe you were just the last thing he lost and he's still trying to pick up the pieces. The same way he was the last thing you lost – and you still are."

"You're _just_ like your brother," amends Kenny, smiling fondly. "Shit, I wish I could have seen what Kyle was like at twenty-two. I'd have done anything."

"Don't you see him?" asks Ike, almost timidly. It is probably not only rude to ask Kenny about death, but also dangerous. He asked Kyle about it once, and Kyle told him it was not his business and that he must never, ever ask Kenny about it. "When you die?"

Kenny shakes his head. "My deaths don't work like that. I don't see anyone I know there. It'd mess with too many variables. I'm split from my loved ones until I'm gone for good." He stares into the distance. "If I could see Kyle while I was dead, I'd ask him what the fuck happened that night. It haunts me. I mean, why was he way out there? How did he get there so _fast_? He didn't take Stan's car, so someone must have taken him. I'd ask him who that was."

Kenny gives a smile, but it is far from a happy one and his eyes do not refocus, still lost in his own thoughts. "If I could see Kyle whenever I died – I think I'd spend a lot more time that way."


	10. It's Crazy, But

**Author Note: **My huge thanks to D McVetty, J.E. McCormick Gal, thaliasama, xxSay and let's point out the obvious for the lovely reviews! And I'd like to apologise for how long it's taking me at the moment to get out the next chapters recently, I'm so snowed under at the moment it's not even funny. It's shameful that the stuff I actually enjoy doing (writing) has to come second to the stuff I have to do (earning my cigarette money).

I owe extra thanks to xxSay, who wrote a spin-off story based on this one. It's called 'Can Only Hear Me' and I enjoyed it hugely – it's very much in keeping with Seize and from the one point of view you won't see in this story. Go check it out!

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_You're guilty way before you've been tried and it's crazy but you're diggin' it..._

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Kenny cannot tell Ike anything more. He does verify that his alibi for the night, the one that he gave to the police, was the plain truth – his father had arrived home not ten minutes after Kyle left, stumbled into the house and Kenny barely got the chance to stash the whisky in the drawer before Stuart knocked on the door and walked in to check on him. Kenny feigned sleep, not wanting to give any explanations for the injuries to his face while Stuart is barely able to walk and moments later, his father left the bedroom and went in for some serious drinking in front of the TV.

"My dad," says Kenny with an affectionate smile. "I know people in town call him a drunk and a loser and maybe he has got a problem, but you have no idea some of the ways my parents looked out for me. I had to be real careful when I was with Kyle and Stan sometimes because he worried, him and my mom both. That I'd died again. And it tore him up inside." He does not say, but Ike wonders if his parents' alcoholism is just another thing he blames himself for.

Ike finishes his second coffee; the one Kenny made him after his confession about what happened that night. Kenny still looks so much like the teenager he remembers that it is no stretch to imagine what he looked like with those marks. It makes him want to reassure Kenny that it is alright, that Kyle would not blame him and that night, Kenny gave him what little comfort there was to be had in a terrible situation. But he says nothing on the subject.

Instead, he goes back to the call. The call that confirmed to Kenny that the football team were not responsible for what happened to Kyle, that Clyde was telling the absolute truth when he said they had gone to a party and got wasted. Kyle himself had said they could only be in North Park – but Kenny had only Kyle's word for that.

"Ken," he says hesitantly. "You said that Kyle knew they were at Mitchell's house because he could hear the dog. But... might he have been lying? I mean, if he wanted to reassure you that they weren't coming after either of you he could have said that he heard it, just to reassure you. And then, when he left your house..." He does not want to say that Kyle could have been abducted by the team and been involved in some prank that went too far, he does not have to because Kenny knows just what he is getting at and is already shaking his head.

"Two problems with that. He could have lied, yeah and I've thought about it in the past for the same reasons you said. But I don't think Kyle would have said that to reassure me if they really were around and coming after us. He would have wanted me to be prepared just in case and he would have stayed with me, if I was too battered to help myself if they just burst in or lied their way past my old man, then he wouldn't have left me. He would have been right there and the jock who thought Kyle Broflovski was an easy target was in for a big fucking surprise. And that isn't all. Ike, I was looking right at him when he said that and I know it sounds like a little lie, if it really was a lie, but – no. I knew Kyle better than most and he wasn't just saying that to reassure me. It was the truth."

"Wait, you took Stan's car home. Did Kyle take it when he left?"

"No. Stan's car was right there the next morning and the keys were in my jacket pocket still."

Ike shakes his head in frustration. "Not that I don't believe you Ken, but that leaves me at a dead end. This is like, an hour before Kyle died, maybe less and it's like he left here and walked through a wormhole to get out there. It just – doesn't make sense."

"In this town, walking through a wormhole wouldn't be unusual," says Kenny gravely.

"True." Ike sighs again. "Why did he leave Ken? What do you think, really? I know what happened, but what do you think was on his mind?"

Kenny frowns lightly, leaning forward a little, giving the question honest consideration. "Honestly? I know what was on his mind. That phonecall just clinched it but it was in the back of his head from the moment he saw me. Probably from the moment Stan went down and didn't get up again." He looks candidly at Ike. "Revenge. Kyle could be a vindictive bastard in his own way. He brooded, he had a helluva temper, he hated seeing us both hurt like we were and I saw it in his eyes when he got that call. He was out for blood. I don't know what he was planning and to be straight with you, I don't think he had any real ideas in mind himself either."

He sighs, leaning back. "So, I think he really was planning to go for a walk, or get to a late-night store and get something to put on my cuts. But maybe he wanted some time alone too, to think things through. I don't know that he could do that in my room, even if I was sleeping. He'd be too clouded with rage and Angry Kyle made mistakes. When he lost his temper, that was when he did the really stupid things. He reacted, he lashed out. You know that. So I think he was trying to calm himself down some... and plotting. I know that if Kyle hadn't died that night, then something big would have gone down."

Looking at the ceiling, he chews his lip a moment before continuing. "I wonder sometimes if the observation deck wasn't a part of it. Maybe he was planning some big trap, he came up with some plan and he couldn't wait until morning to check out the place and get things fixed in his mind. And then he just – slipped and fell. But that doesn't tell me how he even got there. That's what I don't understand. I can accept it could have been an accident, but how did he get there so _fast_?"

To that, Ike has no answer either.

Kenny seems to know that the topic is just another circle to walk in, that he could go around and around as he has done for the last ten years and get only those same maddening questions, because he starts talking about other things. The things that Ike told himself he was back in town for, before all the mystery of Kyle's death raised its head again. He speaks of how Kyle would help out both himself and Stan while they studied, how he encouraged them. How Kyle was the one who was in hospital every day while Kenny lay dying. Small things that Kyle did that changed his life, even before they became lovers. And he reminds Ike of several things that time has taken from his memory, the way Kyle watched out for Ike in a way that elder siblings are oft reputed to do but rarely happens in reality.

Ike spends maybe two hours in Kenny's home, the same amount of time his elder brother spent with the man before he walked out of the front door to die. By the time he knows he should be bidding Kenny farewell, he feels both better and worse. He knows more of the depth which Kyle has touched this man's life and that Kyle's influence has not died, even it Kyle himself has. But he is still a hundred miles from knowing what happened to Kyle and that Kenny has no answers that he did not realise. And perhaps it is Kyle's absence that has kept Kenny standing still all these years, never going forward, trapped in some moment ten years past.

Kenny is as pleasant and helpful as he was all along, but the more he talks, the sadder his eyes become and the more tired he looks. Ike knows too well how the influx of memories can weary one and he also knows Kenny is in some form of self-imposed isolation. The man needs a break.

"Can I come by again sometime?" he asks as he takes his leave. "Before I head out of town?"

"Sure," says Kenny, although he doesn't look all that sure. "But do me a favour Ike? Not tonight. Please. "

"Are you going to the reunion?"

Kenny gives a barking laugh that is saved from being totally scornful solely by the look of only minor exasperation he sends at Ike. "Not in this lifetime, not that one anyway. I've got no reason to go toast the memories of Park County High and catch up with a bunch of people I'd much rather spit on." He checks himself. "I'm not going. But I've got other things to do and uh, this has all been – well, y'know. A lot to deal with all at once. I'd just like to be alone a while."

Ike personally thinks that Kenny has been alone too much and too long, but he lets it go and leaves the man, as Kenny clearly wants him to do. He pauses a moment outside the apartment, wondering what his next move is. There are no more leads; it is as simple as that. No one left to talk to save for the people attending the reunion that night and none of them will know as much about his brother as Kenny did, not a one of them will know how Kyle got from Kenny's house to the other side of town in that time. There is no one else to talk to.

Maybe it is time to let it go.

_Take a walk_, suggests Kyle in the back of his mind. _It'll clear things in your mind if nothing else. And maybe you can get a picture of how long it should have taken to get to the other side of town from Kenny's house. _

It's not a bad idea and he has nothing else, he has several hours before he is to meet Kieran and he has no game plan regarding how to play things from here, or how to play things this evening – if he will attend the reunion and beg of stories of his brother or if that is simply a step too far. He can see the faces now, people who recall Kyle as a face in the halls and as the shocking death that hit their final year. He knows Kyle will be a hot topic of conversation that night, he does not know if it is a smart idea to ensure it becomes more so with his own presence.

As if his eyes are drawn, Ike looks over to the horizon. The day is cold, clouds threatening snow, but the sky is so far clear and in the distance, he can see the hill where Kyle met his end. The observation deck only a speck in the distance, the outcropping some twenty feet below where Kyle landed. The sight is an ominous one and he shudders involuntarily.

He cannot bring himself to go there, not now. Instead, he does the maths, something he was always excellent at. He figures that there must be a twenty-minute walk from this spot to the observation deck, but this is still some distance from the place that Kenny called home back then (and where presumably, his parents still dwell). With this in mind, Ike starts walking deliberately in that direction. He does not even have to consider his route, he lived in the town for half of his life and his feet merely take him the right way, without having to engage his brain.

South Park is roughly rectangular with straggling, unclear boundaries. The observation deck is at one end of the town, toward the mountains, the grander areas of town beneath. At the other end is a farm belonging to – Ike struggles to recall and comes up blank. Something beginning with a D, he is almost sure. He had promised Kyle that he would not go there, because the crazy farmer shoots to kill and any trespasser is game, regardless of age or reason for being there. The train tracks bisect the town about three-quarters of the way down, even further away from the observation deck than he realised; it is another twenty-five minutes before they come into view. Ike's frown deepens. There is simply no way that Kyle could have made it in time. He could not have run in the poor weather and the dark, he didn't drive. Ike already knew it, but this is confirmation.

He passes Stan Marshes old house, which has gone through some significant changes. The old tree house is gone, the brickwork has been painted a shade of yellow sometime long past and it has now faded to dingy nicotine shades. There are three children of indeterminate age and gender playing in the front yard, bent over something that Ike can't see. They do not look up as he passes, but their high laughter comes back to him as he hurries on his way. Just another landmark, but it holds nothing that he is looking for.

If Stan's old house is unsettling, then crossing the train tracks is deeply depressing. He did not often go to Kenny's house back in the day and he remembers now how it almost scared him, with its strange odours and barely-coherent parents and he would always leave feeling desperately sorry for Kenny and a little bit more grateful for his own life. The walk toward it reminds him of that. The entire neighbourhood screams _poverty_ in an almost physical voice.

He approaches the house where Kenny grew up, the dilapidated dump that had such a bad reputation back then. It looks worse than he remembers if anything. The guttering lists, the front window is cracked and the whole building gives off an aura of human misery. He finds it hard to believe that anyone could still live there and yet, there are signs of life – a curtain tacked up over the front window, which is open, the faint sounds of some talk-show argument ringing out into the street.

There is a man on the pavement outside.

Ike watches him as he approaches. The man is taller than him, although it is not automatically apparent due to the way he stands. He wears a black beanie and a black padded jacket, black jeans. One hand is stuffed in his pocket, the other rests on something that Ike recognises; a cane. One of the Goths he and Kieran would hang out with carried one as a flashy gesture – but Ike suspects that this is not him, in spite of the black gear. The man leans on the stick for support, not carrying it to show off.

And he is staring at the McCormick house as if hypnotised, once or twice looking as if he might move down the ill-kept path and then remaining where he is.

Ike feels no surprise at all as he connects the dots, this man isn't someone he expected to see but South Park has always been a place of oddities, of coincidence and chance. The small town has affected their lives, their views on normality, everything they have ever seen as possibility. He feels no surprise, but he does feel a vague, free-floating fear. As if they are all being called back home by this place not by coincidence, or some frivolous reunion, but for a reason. He feels as if he is being led by something he does not understand.

Ike stops as he passes, calls over in a low voice. "He doesn't live there anymore."

The man turns slightly awkwardly, staring at Ike and recognition coming over his face. Ike is not surprised; he knew who it was from the distance. It would have been almost odd if he hadn't. He saw those sapphire eyes, the ones currently staring at him in disbelief, every day of his life until he was eleven years old.

"_Ike?"_

Ike nods in confirmation, trying not to be affected by the Kyle-voice in his head – since he has arrived here, that voice has almost taken on a personality of its own and now is saying the man's name in overtones of sheer joy. He can almost envision Kyle, the wide smile that would have been on his face had the image and the voice not been solely the product of his own imagination.

"Hi Stan."

~:~:~:~:~

Stan does not seem comfortable about being seen around town and in the end, Ike persuades him that they will be just fine in his room back at the motel. Stan seems only marginally happier about this, but agrees. Ike suspects it is not because he wants to, but because of Kyle.

Ike makes coffee as Stan sits on the edge of the bed, cane in easy reach. Busying himself with the drinks, Ike wonders if it is obvious that he did not spend the previous night alone and decides it hardly matters; he has not seen Stan for ten years and it was not he who was Stan's friend. It doesn't matter if he had the entire Denver Broncos first team in the room with him. That thought leads him back to football and how the brightest star of the game that South Park ever produced is sitting on his temporary bed, having never made it to the big leagues.

He hands Stan the coffee and watches as the man cups it with both hands. "How've you been doing Stan?" he asks softly.

Stan looks over at his cane, eyes wistful. "I'm a vet," he says with a slight smile. "I was planning to go into marine biology, might as well study since I didn't have anything else to do with my time anymore..." He snorts quietly, eyes still on the walking stick. "But I found out I wasn't really able to do a lot of things anymore. Can't go chasing after animals that aren't already on a leash these days."

He looks back at Ike. "No need to ask if you've been doing well, I guess," he says with a small smile. "Kinda makes me wonder what you're doing back here."

Ike shrugs. "I've been trying to find out more about my brother – what he was like, what people thought about him, y'know? Stupid stuff I guess, but..."

"But you want to keep on remembering him?" Stan's voice is understanding and although it's not entirely what Ike meant, he nods. It's close enough to the truth.

"More than that though, I wanted to _learn_ about him. I know what I remember, but that's all just big brother stuff and he wasn't just my brother. I guess I wanted to know about how he affected other peoples' lives, as well as mine."

Stan gives a short laugh. "He sure did that." He looks away, to the floor. "What did you learn?"

"I learned about you three," replies Ike, looking straight at Stan. He hopes that there will be some reaction but aside from a slight stiffening of his muscles, there is nothing. Ike sighs. "Look, Stan, I – I don't really understand, but I'm starting to. I'm not mad, I'm not trying to judge or anything, I just – well, it's all so _weird_."

Stan gives him a hurt look and Ike shakes his head. "No, not you three. What happened that night, _that_ was weird. How Kyle ended up there, _why_... I didn't come here trying to find out what happened to him that night, I thought I knew, but I didn't know anything. And now, I'm trying to put it all together."

He reaches out to touch the back of Stan's hand. "The only thing I _am_ sure of is that Kyle was happy," he says honestly. "Everything people have said, and what _I_ remember from back then, he was really happy being with the two of you. And I'm glad he had that. But I don't understand how everything went so bad so fast, and why it stayed that way."

Stan looks over at Ike. "It couldn't have lasted, I guess, but back then I thought..." He sighs. "Two weeks before Kyle died, I was playing in a game – oh, don't look like that. I was obsessed with three things back then, Kyle, Kenny and football, so if you want to hear about the first two, you've gotta deal with the third. It was a playoff for a place in the state championships and the team we were playing were real tough. They shit all over us the year before. But that day..." He shakes his head, a slight smile on his face. "It all came together. Every pass, every tackle – we _destroyed _them. And I scored more than half the goals in that game. It was really exciting, you can't imagine. I hit a field goal and the whole school was screaming my name and I looked up – Kyle and Kenny were standing next to each other, right at the front and screaming right along with everyone. Kenny was wearing that fucking Cows shirt that he wore to every game and to hell with the weather, Kyle had stolen one of _my_ shirts and they were grinning like crazy and I just thought – this, right here, this moment. I was so fucking _happy_. I just _knew_ that things would keep going that well, we'd win the championship and I'd get my sports scholarship and go pro. But better than that, I _knew_ that after the game, they'd be there with me. And that seemed more important."

He meets Ike's eyes, that smile still there. "After the game there was this huge celebration, we ended up back at this one guy Mitchell's house along with about three quarters of the school and I just bet he wasn't too happy that Kenny and Kyle were there, but if they weren't then I wasn't. The three of us had a few beers and the atmosphere was just ecstatic. It was – insane, like we'd just won a war and saved the world at the same time. It was fun, but I didn't want to be there with the crowd then. I wanted to be with _them_. We managed to sneak out unseen and we took a cab back to Kenny's place – my parents and yours were home, or they would be. The McCormick's were gone though, I don't remember where. And we took the mood home with us. No one realised why we'd gone. I guess I thought we were completely invincible. That no one would find out until we wanted them to know. I felt indestructible, like the world was gonna be for the three of us."

The smile leaves his face. "Exactly two weeks later, everything was in ruins. I never believed any of us could crash that hard."

He blinks a couple of times, mouth tightening. "But I don't know anything about what happened that night. The last thing I remember is being in the ambulance, I think – it's all kinda blurry. And the next thing I remember for sure is waking up to find my parents with me, no sign of Kenny... or Kyle. They wouldn't let Kenny tell me what happened to Kyle. They did it for me and right then, I didn't give a shit if they took my leg off from the balls down. It didn't matter anymore. I just wanted Kenny to come over and I thought we could – I dunno. Support each other through it. Some sappy shit like that. Only Kenny blamed himself for it all. He never stopped thinking it was his fault that Kyle was dead, that he should have done something, been there. And that he couldn't be with me because of it."

"He still blames himself," says Ike quietly.

Stan nods, as if he expected nothing else. "I know what people were saying around town," he adds, voice stern. "And I'll tell you this because I bet it crossed your mind. Kenny did _not_ hurt Kyle. Kenny loved him, and me. And that's why he said when my parents took me out of town that we should call it a clean break. Because he thought he'd brought what happened to all of us on our heads and he couldn't stand to be the reason for it happening again. But he _wasn't_."

_Stan Marsh is having a good night. He has smoked pot on occasion at the post-game parties that Mitchell usually throws and he likes the minor hysteria that it brings, the spacey feelings. He is not so fond of how he feels sick and dizzy and how he ends up practically melted onto a chair and cursing himself for being unable to get to the fridge and take care of his hunger. He mentioned this to Kenny shortly after one of the parties and Kenny shook his head with some amusement, claiming it was because he'd mixed it with the booze. Stan hadn't believed him and hence, the little experiment. Stan's parents are visiting his sister at college and the house is free all weekend, there is no game Saturday for once and it seems a good time for some mild recreational illegality. Kenny has the connections through his brother, Stan and Kyle ponied up the cash._

_Now, they are all pleasantly toasted. Kyle and Kenny have relocated to the floor, going through Stan's DVD collection and trying to find something they can all watch. But each option appears to cause a five minute discussion on the whys and why-nots, so it is taking them a long time to agree. Stan has remained where he is, sitting on the chair, eyes closed. Not that he is passing out or anything so lame, just so there is no misunderstanding. No, he is just chilling out, trying to find the energy to move and get himself some snacks. What he really wants is mint chocolate. A good, creamy milk chocolate with pieces of crisp mint, the strong kind. He could eat roughly a ton of it. Stan has a large appetite anyway, he takes his future football ambitions seriously and trains damn hard, he burns off enough calories a day to make him eat like crazy. Even more than Cartman, since the fatass started trying to watch his weight, with limited success._

"_Dude, that film is soooo lame." _

_A pause. "Dude."_

"_Dude?"_

"_Dude. I think Stan's crashed."_

"_Fucking lightweight." This followed by an attempt at suppressing their laughter. Stan flips them off without opening his eyes and the sniggers get louder yet more muffled. Stan imagines they are both stuffing their hands over their mouths and chuckles himself, but he is soon overtaken by thoughts of mint chocolate. He could get horny for mint chocolate. _

_Perhaps the only thing he can get horny for, he thinks with a slight frown. It would be nice to have a warm body to get giggly with, but there is no one that he actually likes. He has been on several dates since he went to high school, the cheerleaders especially all want to be dating one of the football team, although the other girls aren't adverse either, but Stan just can't rouse the interest. His last date was three months ago, Brandi from North Park. They went to a movie, she suggested they parked the car somewhere private afterwards and pretty soon, they were making out. Stan followed the correct procedure, tongue, random grope, go for the tits over the top of the shirt. There had been no objection, so he moved to the next step, go for the tits under the shirt. Brandi had stopped him and informed him she was not that kind of girl, so Stan had quit his explorations without rancour toward her. She had been funny with him all the way home and it wasn't until several hours later that Stan realised it was not because he had tried in the first place, but because he hadn't played the game right. She was supposed to object, he was supposed to talk her into it. Instead, he had offended her._

_Girls are baffling. Give him mint chocolate any day. _

_There is that nagging feeling that he only goes on dates at all because if he doesn't, then people will talk and there are some topics that never go down well in high school. Like wondering why the star quarterback is celibate. He is not as focused on appearance and popularity as some others are, but he is aware that certain behaviours mark others out. He only has to think back to poor Tweek and the torment he went through before quitting school forever to realise that. _

"_Stan. Dude." Kyle's voice, maybe a little more careful than usual but still full of concern. "You okay?"_

"_Yeah." Stan opens his eyes to see both of his best friends looking at him keenly, in spite of their own indulgences. And in honesty, Stan does not feel wasted either. Merely a little more – lax than normal. "Just bumming myself out a bit."_

"_Dude." Kenny shakes his head, smiling a little and grabbing the half a joint they have left in the cheap foil ashtray. He crawls over to Stan, apparently too lazy to get to his feet and leans against his leg, fishing for his lighter and finding it, reigniting the joint and taking a healthy puff before handing it over. _

_Stan's fingers brush Kenny's as he takes it, Kenny's head roughly level with his knees. His eyes meeting Stan's with some amusement and Stan thinks, not for the first time, that Kenny McCormick has quite the most expressive set of eyes he has ever seen – yet there are mysteries behind them too. He thinks that Kenny might have already seen everything of life. He can see Kenny more clearly than he ever has before, right down to the faint blonde stubble growing on his chin. He wonders if it is some effect of the pot._

_He takes several drags on the joint. The tip is still slightly damp from Kenny's lips and Stan takes care not to drool over it, he is not even a social smoker and is always worried he will do so. Kenny holds out a hand after a minute or so and Stan returns the joint back to him._

"_We'll get you out of the downward spiral," says Kenny comfortingly, patting Stan's leg and taking another drag. "If we can find Kyle's sense of humour sometime this year."_

"_Fuck you," snaps Kyle, but there is a smile on his face and he looks over at Stan, giving him a solemn, secretive wink. "And quit hogging that."_

_Kenny crawls back over to Kyle and tries to play keep-away with the joint, Kyle snags it with slender fingers on his second attempt. He smirks, inhales and blows the smoke directly into Kenny's face. Kenny immediately tries to inhale the cloud and all three of them break into laughter, Kyle trying not to cough on the lungful he still has. _

_Kyle and Kenny fall back into bickering and Stan closes his eyes again, thinking affectionately that his two best friends are the people he loves more than anyone in the world. And he has had a few inappropriate thoughts about them too, more so than any of the girls in school... most recently less than five minutes ago, when Kenny was sitting at his feet and looking up at him, when Kyle winked at him like that. Which is stupid, because neither of them would be interested in him in that way._

_Kyle is quietly popular with some of the girls, occasionally elevated on the couple of occasions that he has taken out Bebe – he has confided that he is not especially interested in her but likes her well enough and had no alternative plans when she asked. Whereas Kenny has a reputation for being a man-whore, created largely from the time that he died of syphilis and his naturally friendly, flirtatious nature. In spite of that, he doesn't date much, he claims because girls are scared of catching something and who wants to arrange a date when there's a good chance he could die before it happens?_

_For his part, Stan is not interested in any _other_ guys and he is intrigued by the female form. But he feels that were he really into girls, then he would have more curiosity than he actually does._

_He should not be thinking along these lines, he realises dimly. Pot tends to heighten libido and the last thing he needs is to get hot and bothered with his friends around for the whole night. They might not realise what was getting him that way – probably wouldn't realise – but they would still tease the hell out of him for it. Far better to return to the subject of mint chocolate. _

_He can hear Kyle and Kenny's muted arguments give way to sudden silence and he assumes that they have found a movie and he'd better look alive, if he doesn't want to look like he can't handle the pot like they can. But he is comfortable and his eyelids are heavy, it is with real reluctance that he forces himself to open his eyes and see what's going on._

_And then he forgets about comfort and tiredness and for a moment wonders if the pot has caused him to hallucinate, because his thoughts seem to have leapt from his head and into the living room. He blinks hard, not quite daring to raise his hands to rub at his eyes, deciding that this is no imagination running wild. This is real._

_Kyle had been sitting on the floor, leaning slightly backward with his hands planted to his sides. Kenny had been near him, longer legs curled beneath him while he went through the DVDs. Only now, Kenny is leaning slightly forward and Kyle has shifted the weight on his hands to lean into him too and from where he sits, Stan can clearly see them kissing. It is tentative, almost chaste, both of them with their eyes sliding slowly closed. He can see the way Kyle is the first to part his lips and increase the pressure, the way Kenny draws back fractionally and moves his tongue against Kyle's before their lips seal tight together again and block the view. _

_Stan is aware of two things; that he is desperately horny just watching them and that he feels some weird mix of sadness and happiness. He would be delighted of course if this was the first kiss of many, he would want only the best for the both of them and they could not get better than each other; that this is a meaningless mistake does not even occur to him, nor will it later on. But he is sad also that this is _their_ moment,_ their_ relationship – and that he is for once, not a part of it. _

_Kyle's hand rises up to brush through Kenny's hair and the gesture is so intimate and caring that Stan is ashamed of his jealousy. It occurs to him that maybe he should pretend he is asleep, but he cannot take his eyes from them. Not even when they break apart and look at each other, sharing smiles. And not when Kyle turns to look directly at him and catches him watching them. _

_Kyle meets Stan's eyes, looking almost stricken. Guilty. Kenny turns his head and sees where Kyle is looking, his expression mirroring the redheads. Stan looks back, not sure what to say. Congratulations? It's fine guys, as you were? Don't stop on my account, actually I'm kinda enjoying it?_

_There is nothing to say and the silence spins out. And then Kenny grins, Kenny who has always been able to cut directly to the heart of the matter with a throwaway statement, while Stan and Kyle are far more likely to stammer and skip around what needs to be said._

"_Hey, Stan," he says, that easy grin never leaving his face, leaning back from Kyle slightly. "Are you gonna sit there watching us all night or are you gonna get your ass down here and join in?"_

_Stan and Kyle both whip their heads around to gape at him, unable to believe he has just said what it sounds like he did. Kenny shrugs almost apologetically, the smile never leaving his face, but both of his friends can tell he's serious and that look is simply a way to laugh it off should they decline his suggestion._

_Kyle seems to have come to the same conclusion, because he glances over at Stan and both of them break out laughing. Typical Kenny... but the look in Kyle's eyes tells Stan that he too is game. And that they are waiting on the say-so of one person._

_Stan quits laughing, shakes his head, thinking how weird it is that this doesn't _feel _weird. It feels like a natural progression of events. It feels right. _

_He moves, leaving his seat and joining the others on the carpet. And then Kyle's lips are on his, Kenny's hands around his waist and Stan loses himself in the moment, unable to imagine a more perfect one._

Ike looks slightly disappointed. "You guys were high? That's why you got together?"

"Yeah, but..." Stan shakes his head. "Look, we weren't wasted. I was kinda happy, but we knew just what we were doing and we could have stopped any time we wanted. And there's the rest of it too – that was one night. But it was the three of us together for months after that and I don't think I smoked anything else that whole time. We got together high and – well, if we hadn't have been, would we have done anything about it? I like to think so, but I really don't know. It's not the kind of thing a guy admits to his two best friends, y'know?"

Stan is justifying their relationship in a way Ike is coming to believe he shouldn't have to, so he raises a hand to stop the man talking. "Kenny didn't tell me any of this. Apart from what happened that last night, he didn't tell me anything about the three of you."

"No, he wouldn't have. He keeps things to himself." Stan hesitates. "Uh, how is he?"

Ike considers. "He's alive, he's working, he's – doing okay," he settles for, even if this is mostly a lie. Because Kenny is not doing okay. Because Kenny wears his aloneness in a way that is almost tangible... and he recognises that same aura on Stan too. He has not asked, but he knows without having to that Stan lives alone, he does not date, rarely socialises. He is still mourning, the way that Kenny is still mourning.

_You can't leave them like this_ says Kyle's voice in his head, urgent. _They can't be alone like this their whole lives._

Ike agrees, but he does not know what he can do about it... because it really isn't any of his business anymore. Back in the day, Kenny and Stan were like slightly distant older brothers to him but that was then, this is now and he lost that at the same time he lost his real brother. All of his brothers are lost to him now – and it seems that they are lost to each other as well.


	11. Voice Inside My Head

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Hot Soup11, let's point out the obvious, Andatariel.x, D. McVetty and xxSay for the lovely reviews! I'm aware of how slow I seem to be updating lately, but I'm horrifically busy at work right now, not to mention socially in demand for some reason. There are only three more chapters left of this story after this one, two of which are already written and the last one, which isn't. Gonna have to get to work with that one, heh heh.

~:~

_A little voice inside my head says don't look back, you can never look back..._

~:~

Stan remains sitting in Ike's hotel room and although Ike knows Stan cannot help him more with what really happened to Kyle the night he died, he has some urge, almost a need, to force Stan to speak to Kenny. Both men are so utterly alone and he knows in his heart it doesn't have to be that way. Maybe after all this time they can at least talk – but Ike is also aware he can't force the issue. He hasn't seen Stan for ten years and he knows that simple demand or cajolement would be met with suspicion or an outright dismissal. It might even make Stan decide to avoid Kenny... although since he has finally made the pilgrimage home, Ike thinks that would be a horrible waste.

Instead, he tries to direct the conversation back. He thinks that some good memories might help Stan, but more than that, he wants to _know_. He is wildly curious as to how the three teenage boys managed to actually decide upon their odd relationship and how they had managed to make it last, probably there is no easy answer to the last one but he thinks understanding that might help him better understand his brother. And there is more; at the moment he feels as if Kyle were the catalyst for the entire relationship, that both Kenny and Stan loved him, but didn't love each other nearly as much. Not if Kyle's death had torn them apart. He doesn't want to think that way though, because if Kyle was all the two had together, then Kyle had been wrong about the relationship too... and the fallout from it had been his fault.

"I don't see how you guys went from one stoned make-out session to actual boyfriends," he says slowly, taking in Stan's expression. The man's expression changes a little, from wistful to a little amused and Ike knows he's on the right track. "I mean, I'd have thought you'd have laughed it off and never mentioned it again. So who suggested you were all lovers?" He wrinkles his nose a little at the word in relation to his brother, this time Stan chuckles. "I bet it was Kenny."

Stan shakes his head. "Ken was the one who tried to laugh it off actually. That night, yeah we were just messing around and we probably could have chalked it up to experience and moved on the next day, but..." He shrugs. "No one wanted that. We weren't sure what we were getting into but I knew what I wanted and I guess those guys had made up their minds too. Not that they were of the _same_ mind of course. About what they wanted, yeah. About what happened next – not quite."

_Stan blinks __his eyes open, aware that he is feeling very groggy and that there is a warm body pressed against his. His arm is thrown over them and he thinks back to the previous night. It doesn't take a lot of recollect. The three of them had planned to smoke a little__ pot, feeling very rebellious and adult for doing so in Stan's parents' house and then they had..._

_Well, the three of them had found themselves in an embrace of soft lips and searching hands. T__o__gether, at the same time. He had kissed Kyle, he had kissed K__enny. He had caressed them while they kissed each other and felt their fingers tracing the lines of his own flesh._

_And now it is morning and they are all sober. And he knows too well that nothing can be the same ever again between them – but he doesn't kn__ow if this is for the better or the worse._

_It is Kyle that his arm is over, the redhead on his back, an arm thrown over his head, eyes closed. There is a second arm on Kyle's stomach and touching his own, lightly dusted with fine blonde hairs. Kenny._

_Stan leans up cautiously, so as not to disturb the sleeping Kyle and sees that Kenny is awake a__l__ready. Their eyes meet and Kenny raises his eyebrows slightly, trying to look nonchalant but there is a flat light of concern there. Kenny never was good at hid__ing his emotions._

"_Morning," says Stan quietly, trying to keep it low for Kyle's sake._

"_Morning," replies Kenny with a small smile. "Some night, huh?"_

"_No shit." Stan doesn't quite know what to say. He wants for things to be as they were, the three of t__hem best friends. But he doesn't want to forget what happened either. He just doesn't see how they can work things clear from this. So he decides to go the comfort route and emphasise his main thought right away, so no matter what happens this morning, the__y both know where he stands. "No regrets?"_

"_Are you kidding?" Kenny's smile widens and Stan catches the relief in his face. "None at all." He shifts slightly, taking his arm from Kyle and looking down at the boy's face. Kyle's brow has creased slightly an__d Stan can tell he is on the verge of waking, although he doesn't seem to want to be dragged from his dreams. Or maybe he misses Kenny's arm over him._

_Kenny looks back at Stan again, his smile slightly wistful. "I guess you and Kyle are gonna get t__o__gether__ after this, huh? I mean, you're not gonna both pretend nothing happened, right?"_

_Stan blinks in confusion. The thought of being with Kyle fills him with a nervous, happy anticipation – but he does not see where there is a role for _Kenny_ in that. And he k__nows that although he wants Kyle, of course he does, he wants Kenny just as much. It worries him. Shouldn't wanting to be with another person, man or woman, mean forsaking all others? So if he is yearning for both of them, does that mean he does not love e__ither enough?_

_But he _does_ love them and it aches to think of him choosing one over the other. He is not sure if it is a romantic love, but he does know that he would live and die for either of them. For both of them. _

"_We're not gonna pretend – well, I'm__ not," says Stan hesitantly. "But I don't know what you're tr__y__ing to say. What about you?"_

"_What about me?" Kenny never loses that small smile. "You two were made for each other, ever__y__one knows it. I'm not getting in the way of that. Although I was pretty__ glad to kick-start it."_

"_You don't want to..." Stan doesn't know how to finish the sentence and honestly, he feels as if he has been punched in the gut. He was scared of facing the reaction, but he has still not adequately prepared himself. _

_Kyle opens __his eyes and focuses on Kenny, his frown deepening. He speaks over Stan and anything else he might have said is lost to Kyle's apparent outrage. "Kenny McCormick, are you _stepping aside_?"_

_Kenny look slightly taken aback by the way Kyle says it – he sounds__ affectionate and pissed off at the same time and Stan can relate. Kenny is doing what he thinks is the right thing and his whole life, Kenny has drawn the short straw. He assumes that they do not want him as much as they want each other and does not even __begrudge them that. _

_Kyle sits up, taking Stan's hand and lacing their fingers so that he too has to sit up. Kyle pulls their joined hands to his stomach so that Stan has an arm around him. Like a couple, united, Kyle's back against Stan's chest, both of __them facing Kenny. _

"_What Stan was trying to say, asshole," says Kyle, his voice exasperated but still overlaid with that true caring. "Is that no one _wants_ you to step aside. I don't want to lose you – either of you." He looks back at Stan, defiance in __his eyes, then to Kenny again. _

_Kenny sits up, more slowly, eyes looking at the sheets and not at them. "Kyle. It doesn't work like that."_

"_Why can't it work like that? Because couples are more usual? So fucking what?"_

_Kyle looks over his shoulder to St__an again, silently asking for confirmation that they are both in agreement. Stan does not even have to think it over; he gives a single nod and Kyle gives him a smile that is pure warmth before turning back to Kenny and cupping his jaw in his hand._

"_Kenny__. Do you want to be with us?"_

"_Yes~"_

_Kyle's lips cut off any protestation that Kenny might have been about to make. Stan can see the way Kenny mentally throws in the towel, relaxing into the kiss and returning it. Kyle keeps it soft and loving, pulling a__way shortly after and giving him a smile. Kenny returns it, looking over at Stan with something akin to delighted disbelief in his eyes. Stan muses that the look on his own face probably mirrors it as he puts his hand on the back of Kenny's head and pulls __him closer so they can kiss over Kyle's shoulder, briefly but with clear affection, both of them smiling into it._

_Kyle settles back against the headboard, Stan joining him a moment later and leaning comfortably against him. A few seconds after that, Kenny__ does the same thing, chuckling happily. "Oh boy. What have you guys got me into this time?"_

"_A threesome," says Stan with a smirk. Kenny gives an amused snort of laughter. "I would have thought that was just what you always wanted Ken."_

"_I dream of it e__very night and twice on Sundays," says Kenny gravely, that smile still twitching the corners of his mouth. "Heh, threesome. Just sounds... like a porn video."_

"_A polyamo__rous relationship," says Kyle almost primly, although he's chuckling as well._

"_That __sounds like a phrase from a science essay," protests Kenny. "How about a ménage a trois?"_

"_Day trip to a French zoo," replies Stan immediately. _

_Kyle laughs, nudging Stan with his shoulder. Stan nudges back, football training meaning he can do so twice __as hard and Kyle almost dislodges Kenny from__ the bed. Kenny tries to get Stan__ back by sho__v__ing Kyle back into him and before long, they are involved in a silly play fight that is like coun__t__less ones they have had before, ending up in a laughing heap on the b__ed, meeting each other's eyes with the secret they share shining in them._

Stan bites his lip, worrying the skin before speaking abruptly. "I lied. Kenny didn't break it off because of what happened with Kyle. Not entirely, I mean he was feeling guilty as hell and I knew he blamed himself but... I didn't know what to do. I was struggling with my own grief and we couldn't even really be alone to talk about it, y'know? Not with me in the hospital. They let me out for the funeral and man, were they pissed about doing that, but even there – I never really got a chance to talk to Kenny without someone being able to hear us. And we were worried about what people might think of Kyle, or us. Kenny had dropped out of school by then, never went back after the game and it was pretty obvious I was going to finish my GED in Denver, but Ken still lived in town. So we skirted around it. We talked in code and some things, you just can't say like that."

He sighs. "I could tell Ken he shouldn't blame himself all I wanted, but I never could sit him down and point out every single reason why not and how much I didn't blame him and how much I still loved him. We told each other that all the time, the three of us. I guess he was used to hearing it and when he didn't..." He shrugs. "He knew why not, but it probably didn't help."

Stan takes a deep breath, continues. "He got into fights. I saw him after Kyle died and he told me a bit about what happened, but it was like it didn't matter much to him and I guess considering what happened to Kyle, it probably didn't. But it fucked him up, not being able to protect Kyle that night. He felt like he'd failed I guess. So he'd leave the hospital and go to a bar or where ever, I dunno. Someplace rough. And he'd take people on and come to visit the next day with some new bruise or injury. I kept telling him to cool it. I knew he was angry, I knew he was acting out, but he was all I had and I was scared that one day..."

Ike feels realisation dawning on him. "One day he'd die?"

Stan nods. "And then there was a day he didn't show up for visiting hours. Or the next day, or the next. My parents didn't know for sure what had happened but we could all guess and I sorta thought they might be keeping it from me. I was madder than hell about it and scared and – oh, I guess it brought back too many memories and fears. Kyle hadn't been dead much more than a month by then. And I kept thinking, _I can't do this again._"

He leans forward and pinches the bridge of his nose in a gesture so familiar that Ike has an uncanny sense of _déjà vu_. "And then about ten days later, the door opens and in he walks. Good as new. I just looked at him and when he gave me that smile, that one he always had, I threw the fucking book I'd been pretending to read right at him. Hit him between the eyes and he staggered back and he wasn't smiling anymore. And we'd been through this before, how much his dying _always_ scared me and I think – I think he knew."

"You were going to end things." Ike's voice is flat with disbelief. "It wasn't him who couldn't deal with it. It was you."

"I couldn't have ended it with Kenny," replies Stan, smiling sadly. "But I couldn't deal with him dying either. Not after Kyle. And when Kenny died, it was Kyle who kept me sane. Without Kyle – well, I'd have gone mad after a while. And Kenny, he knew it. He told me right then, maybe it'd be better for me to make a fresh start in Denver, once I got out of the hospital to just – get on with whatever came my way. He was so fucking _calm_ about it. And I just accepted it. Let him walk away, even though it wasn't what he wanted to do. I could have changed things, I could have begged him not to go and he never would have done, but I didn't say a word. Even though there was a voice in my head _screaming_ at me, saying _this is the wor__st mistake you'll ever make and you know it_, I just let it go."

He shakes his head, looking at the floor. "That voice in my head, it spoke in Kyle's voice. But I was too... tired. Kenny was the only thing I had left and I was too damn tired to fight for him. I couldn't face being hurt again, so I cut myself off from the only thing that ever could. And I hid myself away." He laughs a little, without humour. "That same voice sometimes says to me, _go find him. You know where he is._ And I've always been too scared – until now. And even now, I don't know if I can face him."

"Stan..." Ike wonders how it feels to be Stan, to have reached breaking point so long ago and never really put himself back together again. "I spoke to Kenny already, he said – he only ever said good things about you. He still loves you, I know he does. But he _lied_ to me. He said he was the one who let you down, he was the one who couldn't deal with things anymore. I just don't know why he lied."

"Because he's still protecting me." Stan looks up at Ike, but there is something new in his blue eyes, some flare of hope. "Even after all this time and what I did, he still doesn't want you to think I let him down."

"Or doesn't want to remember that you did." Ike looks Stan square in the eye. "He's still holding on to what you both had. What you _all_ had. He's never let it go. That memory, it's the only good thing he still has left."

Stan shrugs, reaches for his cane. "I guess that makes two of us." He takes the cane, uses it to pull himself up. "Look. I'm staying with my Uncle Jimbo for a couple of days. I'll leave you my number, I don't think I can help you but – look, if you find anything let me know. Or come tell me before you leave town. It'd be good to touch base with you, y'know?"

"I know." Ike puts Stan's number into his phone and looks at the cane, thinks of the long walk out to where Jimbo lives, or at least used to live. "Let me give you a ride there."

Stan's lips quirk into a smile. "I can't help thinking that you're gonna offer to let me stand on the back of your Big Wheels or something. Seeing you grown-up is – strange." He shakes his head. "But I've got my own car a couple blocks from here. I left it there while I went for a look around town again. I'm not sure how I ended up at Kenny's." He smirks. "My feet just took me there."

He leaves without saying goodbye and Ike stares at the door for a long time after he leaves, thinking that of all the people who have returned to town that weekend, Stan Marsh seems to have fallen the furthest even if he is doing okay in any other sense. Then he shakes the thought, checks his watch. He has the time to shower and change his clothes, and then he thinks he will go to the bar and meet up with Keiran.

~~:~~

The day is starting to fade as Ike walks into the bar, wondering if all over town his brothers old classmates are readying themselves for the big reunion taking place that night. But he knows of at least three people who will not be there, and he decides now that he will be another one not attending. It was not his class, they were not his friends and he knows that there is no one there who will have any of the answers. The reunion might have finally pulled the players back to town, but the others that he would see there will not have anything new to tell him.

The drunk that he saw the previous day is at the bar again and Ike tenses slightly, but the sight of Keiran already sat at their table, two drinks in front of him, makes Ike forget entirely about the man. He gives a wide smile, heading over to his old friend and new lover, honestly pleased to see him. It lifts the depression that settled over him over the course of the day, making him feel for the first time in hours like there is more to this town than prejudice and death.

"Got you a drink," says Keiran without preamble, a matching smile on his face that grows slightly concerned as he looks at Ike. "Did you find out anything from what's-his-name, Clint?"

"Clyde." Ike's expression darkens. "Yeah. They beat the holy hell out of Kenny, but weren't even in South Park when Kyle died. I talked to Kenny as well... and Stan. Stan's here. It's like, everyone who might have been involved came back to town at the same time. This reunion, I think it pulled us all back but – it's the excuse, not the reason."

"What did they tell you?"

Ike worries at his lip for a moment, then looks at Keiran again, wishing that he had a lip ring like the other mans that he could play with when he's deep in thought. "Kyle was at Kenny's house until about an hour before he died. And he showered there, that's why they never found Kenny's DNA on him anywhere. When he left, he was madder than hell, threatening to do something to the whole team, only he died before he could do anything. And that's – the end. Kenny didn't know anything else, nor did Stan. It's like he walked out of the door and just showed up dead." He reaches out and takes his drink, having a small sip while he muses on what comes next.

"Stan told me a few things, about how the three of them got together and what they meant to each other. Now I know what happened." Ike's voice is soft. "I know what was going on with Kyle before he died, I know – I know he was happy. It's just..."

He struggles to articulate just what the problem really is. "I found out what I came to learn, but it's just left me with other mysteries. I feel like I know my brother better, but it makes what happened to him even more inexplicable. I mean, I know he was happy until that day and determined as hell to see all three of them through whatever came next, that's suicide out. The guys that hurt Stan and Kenny, they weren't around town even and they can prove it, so that's _murder_ out. But there was no reason for him to be where he was – there was every reason for him to be far away from there. So an accident doesn't make any sense."

Keiran reaches across the table, takes his hand. "Ike. Perhaps something came up once he left Kenny's that led him up there. A prank call even, if the team were making calls to Kyle that night, could be one of them said they'd meet him up there or something just to get him into the cold and laugh at the thought of him waiting. The others wouldn't have to even know about it. There could be all kinds of reasons that we haven't considered. Things aren't always solved the way we want them to be."

"Yeah." Ike looks over the table at him and smiles. Although it is rather shaky, it is also very genuine. "And I didn't come here with any illusions about finding out what really happened that night."

"Although you were kinda hoping."

Ike looks rueful. "Am I that transparent?"

"No." Keiran smiles, tightens his hold on Ike's hand. "I just know that even if you knew it was unlikely that anything new would show up, you were holding out some hope. Especially given that you were turning up all kinds of secrets."

Looking down, Ike smiles. "Yeah. I always had this daydream; I'd go back to South Park someday and find out what really happened. Look at the site and turn up some new evidence that would retell the whole story. Then I'd be able to work around what happened to Kyle, without always wondering what really happened. Without all the damn _questions_. I got what I came for – hah, more than I bargained for. But I was still kinda holding on to that dream."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Ike gives a small smile. "I've learned more about my brother, the kind of guy he was – exactly the kind of guy I thought he was. That people really did love him and he changed lives, the way I always knew he would. That I wasn't the only one affected – yeah, I know that sounds selfish. I really hope Stan sticks around long enough for... never mind. The questions are still there and I might have found out more about what didn't happen to him than what did. But the really big questions are answered. Because wondering if your brother killed himself, or if the person who killed him is still out there, those are the things that keep you up at night. And the things I've found out, maybe they won't do anymore."

A shadow falls on the table and Ike looks up to see the drunk from the bar standing over them, a sloppy grin on his face. Momentarily Ike is afraid, he wonders if the man has come to start shit with them for holding hands. It would not be the first time such a thing has happened to him. He expects some loud 'gay-boy' joke, followed by a few sneers, causing a scene while Ike wishes himself into a hole somewhere.

But Keiran seems unworried by the man's presence. "Hi Stuart."

"Hey, um, kid." Stuart clearly does not recall Keiran's name and it is not he who is the focus of attention, his gaze goes back to Ike. "I jus' wanted to say hi to Ike, tell him to remember me to his old man. Me and Gerald were best friends back when we were kids. Always hoped he was okay, where ever he is now."

Ike looks at the man and suddenly, connections fire up in his mind. It's the eyes more than anything. Those blue eyes, faded and threaded with red, but familiar. The same eyes that he had looked into that morning, when he visited Kenny.

"Mr. McCormick?" Ike can scarcely believe it, Stuart always had a problem but he had not expected this decline. His own father is made old before his time but Stuart appears even older than that, years of hard drinking taking their toll. And then another thought occurs. "You called Ken and told him I was back."

Stuart nods, quite carefully and Ike wonders how long Stuart has been drinking in this bar today. He is not falling-over drunk, but he is clearly close. "Kenny went through hell back then," he says, a slight frown on his face. "I didn't want him to get you on his doorstep without warning. He woulda freaked. And he didn't need you to accuse him neither. It's like I told the police, he didn't do nothin' to Kyle."

Ike regards him candidly, of the same mind but curious all the same. "How can you be so sure?"

"Well, I told 'em!" Stuart gestures with a hand. "I said, I was on my way home from this shit-hole and I saw Kyle right out there on the street. And Kenny was still at home, sleepin' like a baby."

"Wait, no one mentioned this." Ike frowns, but he can see why Stuart wouldn't make a credible witness, what with his probable drunkenness on the night and that Kenny was suspected of having something to do with what happened. "You saw Kyle?"

"Yeah." Stuart frowns, trying to remember. "Hard to make a mistake, what with that hair and how he was always hangin' around with Kenny. I'd know it was him anyplace. He was talkin' to some guy, or girl coulda been. Stood by some minivan, chattin' away."

"A minivan." Ike can feel his heart starting to beat faster. "What did it look like? Did he get in?"

Stuart shrugs. "Didn't see him get in," he said absently. "Uh, it was blue. Or green? Maybe grey. Somethin' dark. Remember thinkin' it was some old model hybrid. I just noticed it and headed home. Didn't know it was gonna be important." He makes a staggering step away from the table. "I gotta piss."

"Wait, Mr. McCormick," says Ike hurriedly, a sudden certainty building in him. "Did you tell Kenny?"

Stuart considers it, shrugs. "I dunno. Didn't like to talk about Kyle after that. I knew how much that boy meant to my boy and I thought it might be best if he jus' – got over it. Not that he ever did." He gives a smile and makes his way slowly, carefully, to the bathroom.

Keiran tightens his grip on Ike's hand, as if to get his attention. "What's up Ike? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Ike's gaze goes back to Keiran, but it is clear that his mind is not really there. "In this town," he says slowly. "What's one more ghost?"


	12. You Were Wrong

**Author Note: **As always, huge thanks to the lovely reviewers! J.E. McCormickGal, D McVetty, let's point out the obvious, xxSay, Rib the Unicorn and musicalprincess3491! You guys are honestly the best!

We're rapidly approaching the end of the story now – well, I say rapidly, the way I've been updating lately it won't be that rapid, lol. I gotta finish the new chapter of WHY too yet... too much pressure! Heh, hope you enjoy this one and if you like, then please review and let me know!

~:~

_It's taken you so long to find out you were wrong..._

~:~

Ike finishes his drink without even noticing it, in silence, Keiran merely watching him and not breaking the quiet. But when Ike stands, Keiran does the same. "Where are you going?"

Ike looks at him, blinks, smiles apologetically. "Look, I'm sorry. I know we have a date tonight, but what Stuart said... I need to just follow up on something. I could do with talking to Kenny or Stan again."

Keiran watches him, dips into his pocket for a cigarette and puts it between his lips, indicating for Ike to walk out of the bar with him with a jerk of his head. They both stand on the street for a moment as Keiran lights the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke before looking at Ike. "The car, the minivan. You know whose it was, don't you?"

_Oh, we know,_ says Kyle in the back of Ike's head, sounding grim. But Ike shrugs rather than repeating this. "I think so. But – I don't wanna say too much, in case I'm wrong. I have to check with Kenny or Stan, they'll know for sure. Stuart never told Kenny about seeing Kyle, that much I do know, because if Kenny knew this – things wouldn't be the way they are now. There would have been another corpse in South Park."

He hopes that checking things with Kenny or Stan is the right move, because it feels like the wrong one. After all this time, it feels like they will hate themselves for not having the information that Ike has, or that Kenny will resent his father for not telling him before. But he has no choice; he needs to know that there was no one else in town with that type of car. Because if there is, he could be wrong... yet he is sure he isn't. He has seen the car before, even ridden in it a few times. Mostly after Kyle died, before his family moved away and he does not like the irony; that he unknowingly travelled in the same car that took Kyle to his death...

Maybe. He has no proof that Kyle even took a ride from him, or who the driver was either. But if someone else saw Kyle that night and didn't mention it to the police – well, that didn't suggest an innocent conversation.

"Ike?"

"I'm fine." Ike manages a small smile at Keiran. "I'm sorry to flake out on you like this. Look, I just – I'm gonna be alone for a while. But I, uh – can I call you later?"

"Please do." Keiran smiles. "Whatever time. I keep late nights."

Ike nods, going back to his car. It occurs to him that he has been able to take another man's hands in the middle of the street and no one has yelled abuse at them, if they were given disgusted looks he did not see them. Maybe it is because they are older than Kyle ever lived to be, or that they are not in the insular environment of school, or that times have changed. Maybe it is that adults are more in tune to the manners of society or have less chance to practice their casual cruelties. Or, as Bebe said, they have learned that actions have consequences that can't always be foreseen. Whatever the reason, it saddens Ike that Kyle was forced to keep his sexuality a secret.

He gets into his car and starts it, driving off and taking streets at random. Although he said that he was going to talk to Kenny or Stan, he is not going in the right direction to visit either one, no clear plan of where he is going in mind.

_Oh, now you know that's not true_ says Kyle with some amusement and Ike snickers. As always, Kyle is right. He may not consciously have planned his route, but he knows where he is heading; to the once place in town that he has not yet been. To the place where Kyle died.

He parks the car at the foot of the hill and climbs up. It is a bitch of a climb and although evening is approaching, it is not as dark as the night Kyle climbed up here, nor is the snow falling as it would have been then. Ike is breathless when he reaches the top, but he keeps on going, climbing up the observation deck. From here one can see the whole of South Park, during the day at least. In the dusk, all he can see are vague shapes and distant lights.

With a sinking sense of dread, he approaches the edge of the deck. _Yo__u be careful there Ike_ Kyle suggests, but Ike does not need the warning. The low safety rail remains and Ike grips it tightly, fighting the urge to puke as he leans over the edge. It is as if he can see the ghost of Kyle lying down there, the snow starting to cover his body, wide green eyes staring unseeingly up. Asking a question that Ike does not know the answer to.

"Kyle," he says out loud, although his voice is low it seems loud out here in the silence. "What the hell were you doing out here? How did you even _get_ here?"

"I brought him."

Ike was expecting an answer from within his own head, in Kyle's voice, so it takes him a moment to realise that this voice is real and not his own imaginings. And that although he has not heard it in close to ten years, he recognises it still. The deep voice with the undertones of whine, the smugness that is barely disguised. Ike recognises that voice all right. It would have been odd had he not.

He turns, seeing the man walking out onto the deck behind him. He can understand how he did not hear his steps – he was not listening, did not expect company and had been able to hear his heart beat in his ears after the exertion of climbing the hill. But he is puzzled how he neither saw nor heard a car.

He doesn't suppose it matters now.

He steps away from the railing, toward the newcomer. "Hi there Cartman."

~:~:~

Back when Ike was eleven, Cartman had been the butt of every fat joke there was. He had been the resident school fatass since his earliest childhood and although the fat kid usually has their own unhappy reputation, Cartman's notoriety saved him from being seriously abused. Everyone knew that he was a pitiless psychopath and there is every chance that today's tormentor could be tomorrows chilli.

At sixteen, Cartman seemed to take some kind of control of his appearance and although he didn't stop eating, he did start working out and making healthier choices. He was never slim, but his porkiness was offset by some kind of muscle tone.

That has changed. At some point in the intervening years, he has given up trying. It may be that under the heavy jacket his tone is invisible, but it does not hide that he has grown more obese. His cheeks are full, he has a second and a third chin beneath the one that is normal and he has the appearance of someone about to suffer the early onset of heart disease. He looks unhealthy but Ike is aware that he is _big_, perhaps a fraction over six foot and as wide as two of Ike.

"Heard that you were in town," says Cartman, his thumbs hooked into the pocket of his jeans. Ike is sure he could fit his entire body into one leg of them. "Been a long time."

"You saw Kyle." Ike does not know that he is going to speak until he does and he is not sure it is the smartest thing he could do. He is becoming convinced that Kyle did not walk up here and he already knows his brother did not kill himself. He is rapidly realising too, that Kyle's death was no accident.

No one knows he is here, he realises uneasily. All anyone knows is that he asked to be alone for a while. And should another dead Broflovski show up at the foot of the observation deck, it will be called irony, some gothically poetic method of suicide. No one would suspect anything different. There is no one in his life that knows him well enough to say he is not capable of such an act.

And yet, he does not stop, doesn't check himself. He and Kyle may not have been blood related, but his own actions remind him of his fiery brother more than himself.

"The night Kyle died, you saw him after he came from Kenny's. You pulled over to talk to him. _What happened_?"

Cartman smirks. "I gave him a ride."

"A ride _here_?"

"Yeah." Cartman looks off into the distance. "He was so pissed that night. You have no idea."

"I'm getting one." Ike stares at him, ten years of anger boiling in him. "You were with him. You knew what happened all along!"

"It was like they said," snaps Cartman. "An accident. Why would I say anything when they worked out what happened?"

"_I_ never knew what happened! No one did! There was so much talk and you could have done something about it!" Ike takes a deep breath, the cold hurting his lungs. "What the hell were you two even doing up here? Why would he want to be around some Nazi asshole like you? What, did you lure him up here for some Hitler Youth scheme, was that it? Another of your nasty little games because Kyle was a _Jew_?"

"He'd gone _too far_ this time!" yells Cartman unexpectedly. Ike does not flinch from the shout, merely glares at Cartman with his fists clenched. Cartman could probably break him like a twig if he chose to, but he cannot bring himself to care.

"Too far?" Ike's voice is dangerously low. "What did he do?"

"Your average Jew is a scheming, lying rat." Cartman gives Ike a sneer. "You know that already though. You might not have been born a Jew, but you'll sure as shit die one. You were brainwashed from a baby and Kyle helped all the way. And he did it to _them_ too."

"What are you talking about?" But Ike is beginning to think he knows.

"This kid on the football team, Mitchell, sent me a picture of Kyle. This was _dynamite_, no way was he not going to let me know about it. You can't imagine what someone like me could have done with something like that. I'd been waiting for an opportunity to expose Kyle for the sick freak that he was for _years_."

"I know what the picture was," says Ike dispiritedly. Once more, petty games and stupid prejudice. "If you were so damn happy about getting the dirt on Kyle, then why the hell did you need to talk to him at all?"

"It wasn't my idea," replies Cartman and Ike believes he is telling the truth, or part of it at least. "But I took advantage of it. He didn't know I knew, how could I have missed that chance to tell him? He was _finished_. I could make sure of it. And not that I gave a shit, but he brought everyone else down with him too."

He takes his hands from his pockets, runs his hand through his hair. It might have been ten years, but Ike can still see the anger and frustration in his face. "Do you know how hard Kyle worked to exclude me from everything? When we were kids, he'd always try to push me out of the group. Always. Because I called him out for what he was, a sneaky, manipulative Jew and he _hated_ that. Everything I did, he'd say was an act, fake, like I'd made it all up. He'd make sure I wasn't invited to his parties. He laughed when I got sick, he laughed when I got hurt, and he got his friends to hate me too. He was a _jerk_ our whole lives."

Ike shakes his head. That was the truth so twisted as to be unrecognisable. "You _d__id_ make stuff up and lie, you ruined his parties and I'm pretty sure he didn't have to do much to make people hate you."

"My whole _life_, he wanted me out of our gang." Cartman gives Ike a black look. "And then he infects the others with his sickness, he couldn't be happy with just one of them, oh no, not Kyle. He dragged both of them into his fucking sex games and it was _just another way to leave me out_!"

"_It wasn't all about you!"_ Ike yells back. "For once in your life, understand that! Not everything is about you! What happened between Kyle and Stan and Kenny wasn't anything to do with you, it wasn't some plan to piss you off, you weren't even part of the equation!"

"I was _never _part of the equation!" Cartman's face is red and Ike thinks again about his arteries. "They always had to find some new way to leave me out and that _fucking _Jew – it was all _his_ fault!"

Ike runs a hand through his hair, his own frustration starting to show. "Why do you care? _Why_? You just said, you were _delighted _to have the chance to tear them down, all three of them – if you were so desperate for their friendship and acceptance, you could have stood by them! So what, you were jealous of Kyle? Because it wasn't just _him_ you would have hurt with that picture."

"Jealous of a _J__ew_?" Cartman laughs mockingly. "Hardly."

Ike does not respond to this. He is thinking, remembering. All the times that Cartman got into Kyle's face, every piece of nastiness going back to their youth, all of that was done to get a response _from Kyle_. Not to impress Stan and Kenny, but to deliberately goad his brother. So that Kyle would give him attention.

"You weren't jealous," says Ike slowly, raising his eyes to meet Cartman's. "You were _obsessed_."

Cartman looks as if he is about to dispute this observation, but Ike presses on before he can speak. "You weren't happy if Kyle wasn't talking to you. You hated it when his attention was on the others. But you always knew just how to make him notice you, didn't you? It was nothing to do with wanting Stan and Kenny to like you more than Kyle. You wanted Kyle to like _you_ more than _them._"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Cartman's voice is low and threatening. "I hated Kyle."

Ike shakes his head. "If you hated him that much, you would never have hung out with him. You wouldn't have tried to impress him, always trying to get him to think you were better than him. Yeah, you hated him, but it wasn't _him_ you hated, it was how he was always in your head. Did you hold out any hope? I guess you must have done. Hoping that one day, he'd see the light and realise – what? That you were right, that you were great? That he was as obsessed with you as you were with him? That there was some kind of fucked-up bond between you and he was suffering just as much?"

"You talk just as much shit as he did."

"But then you saw the picture." Ike does not even hear Cartman. He is in the zone; he can _see_ how things must have played out in his head. "That same night, sometime after the football team were done with Kenny and Stan. Mitchell sent you a message and you opened it. You weren't expecting more than a joke or perhaps some embarrassing picture of someone you could care less about. Instead, you got that picture. All three of them, making out. What did you do, did you get upset? Did it finally, _finally_ sink in that no matter what you did, you were never going to get even a piece of Kyle, when your friends clearly already did?"

"I puked." Cartman's voice is flat. "I'd been to KFC and I was in my mom's minivan, going home with the bucket. I opened the text, stopped the car, leaned out the door and threw up in the gutter." He glares at Ike, old anger flaring in his eyes. "Then I just drove. For hours. All over town, into the mountains and back again, trying to clear my head. Didn't work. So I figured I'd go get some answers. Kyle wouldn't tell me shit and Stan was in the hospital – but _Kenny_, he'd talk. I could make damn sure he'd talk. I could act concerned, manipulate him into it. Or threaten him into it. He had two pretty big weak spots, right there on the picture with him."

"But..." Ike shakes his head. "You never went to Kenny's. He would have said."

"I didn't make it." Cartman gives a sly smile and once again, Ike remembers how he is all alone in the place where his brother died and no one knows where he is. "I was about half-way there and who do I see walking down the street but the guy who caused all of this. _Kyle_."

Cartman takes a couple of steps forward and Ike instinctively moves back to compensate. His back hits the low railing and he stops immediately, thinking how easy it might be to fall over, how all it could take was the wrong move by a threatening enemy. Like the one in front of him.

Ike takes a hold of the railing and Cartman looks as if he might make some comment – no doubt about how Kyle met his end – but then he hears something in the distance but getting closer. A low voice, the words snatched away by the wind, someone approaching. Cartman shoots Ike an angry, worried look and turns to await whoever it is; apparently he thinks that Ike is responsible for their presence. But Ike has no idea who it could be either.

It is not one person who walks onto the observation deck to greet them, but two. Perhaps the only two men who have any business being in this place tonight; Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick. And although Ike knows they have not seen each other or spoke in years, they stand united, close to one another. Ike is suddenly struck by the notion that seeing them together like that looks as right now as it did back then.

_You guys,_ says Kyle affectionately. His voice is somehow less confidential than it usually is, less obviously his own mind giving his thoughts the voice of his dead brother. And it the first time ever that the words are not intended for Ike at all.

"You guys!" Cartman is unaware that he is echoing Kyle, merely gives both men a slightly confused look. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been here since Ike left," says Kenny with a shrug. "Down there. Where they found him. I saw Ike heading up here and was gonna leave – but then I heard your voice. Like I could ever forget it."

"And I got here a couple minutes ago," adds Stan, gloved hands gripping his cane. "Kenny was on his way up here, but he heard the car and flagged me down."

Ike wonders how _that_ was, Stan and Kenny coming face-to-face for the first time in so long _here_. He wonders if they managed to have a few words before chasing up here after them. He hopes they did... but he doesn't think so.

"How nice," says Cartman, his voice barely concealing a sneer. "The old gang all together again. Bar one pissy Jew of course." He laughs cruelly, as if it's some big joke.

"I'll stand in for him," says Ike, standing straight and raising his head. He did not know he was going to speak until he did and the voice that emerges is one that sounds only peripherally like his own. His eyes are on Cartman, but he is aware of the startled looks from Stan and Kenny.

Cartman snorts. "One Jew's the same as another I suppose. Well, count me out. It's fucking freezing up here and the past is all done with. I'm not standing up here and having a fucking reunion. At least at the other one, there's snacks."

"We heard you," says Stan, his eyes boring into Cartman. "You and Kyle were up here. Together. Only Kyle didn't come back."

"We want the truth," says Kenny, his expression grim. "You owe it us."

"Tell them Cartman." Ike folds his arms and he can hear the weird mixture of anger and amusement in his voice. "Tell them what really happened up here. And how the hell it could have been an _acc__i__dent._"

"It _was_!" Cartman looks from one man to another, his expression that of a trapped animal. "It was all _his_ fault, not mine! It was his own fault he died!"

"You were there." Kenny's voice is dull. "All this time, you could have told us what really happened and you didn't. You had to know what we were going through and you just kept quiet."

"You left Kyle here," says Stan, tearfully, but they are tears of rage. "You just _left_ him! Like, like he didn't matter, like it wasn't _important_..."

"Did you kill him?"

Ike is not surprised that Kenny has been the one to finally ask. He _is_ surprised by the way Cartman rounds on the blonde, as if he's ready for a fight.

"_I didn't kill him!"_ Cartman's voice is enraged. "It was his own _fault_!"

"So tell it," says Ike coldly, still in that voice he has never heard coming from his mouth before. "Tell all of them how it really was."


	13. What Resembles Rage

**Author Note: **My undying gratitude goes out to angelswillfall, let's point out the obvious, J.E. McCormickgal, xxSay and Rib the Unicorn for the lovely reviews! I was actually sort of worried about the reveal, I'm glad that it went down well!

This is the last real chapter of this story, just the epilogue to go – which really doesn't want to be written, the number of times I've started and then erased the lot! I was rather hoping that it would be up a couple of days after posting the last chapter and although that might still happen, it could take as long as a week. This chapter has some of the answers and was written prior to me seeing episode 201. Which was unjustly banned in this country, thank God for the internet. The episode didn't change anything in the story, but if I had seen it first then probably I would have made different references.

~:~

_The air around me still feels like a cage and love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage..._

~:~

_Eric Cartman has not felt this confused and enraged and impotent since he was eight years old and he was ripped off by Scott Tennorman. His phone is in the passenger seat, switched off as if to prevent more images from coming through, but he can still see that picture. He can still see the way Kyle's hand is on Kenny's chest, his lips touching Stan's. Stan's arm on Kenny's side, almost smiling eyes closing. Kenny looking reverently up at both of them as they kiss._

_It's Kyle he comes back to most. Kyle's hands on Kenny. Kyle's lips on Stan. His mind on _them_. _

_Kyle was not thinking of Eric Cartman when that picture was taken. Cartman was not at the centre of his mind, was not even at the corners. He was not getting worked up over Cartman's words and actions, he was not imagining ways to get even, he was not dwelling on their mutual hatred. He was not thinking of Cartman at all._

_Cartman doesn't like that. He fucking hates it. He hates that Kyle was able to let go of that obsessive, destructive anger long enough to work out not only that he is gay, but that he has been able to use some kind of Jew mind-control to get _two_ men, _two_. Normal guys, not losers or freaks or perverts, at least on the surface. He hates that he didn't work it out sooner. He hates that they kept it their secret, that they left him out _again_. He hates that he is out in the cold._

_He hates that he was not there with them._

_He hates that Stan and Kenny were the ones with Kyle like that. He hates that they were there at all. He hates that it was not him._

_He hates Kyle Broflovski for making him feel this way._

_He drives, tasting the sour vomit on his breath and smelling the chicken that he has no more appetite for. Usually, when he is upset or afraid, he eats. Right now, he feels that he might never be able to eat again. He does not know where he is going, he could not say where he has been. The streets are the ones he has walked or driven his entire life and although he knows them, it is as if they are a whole new country._

_His mind keeps giving him images that he does not want to see, and yet he cannot get them out of his head. The three of them shedding the rest of their clothes, lying on Kyle's bed. The sheets tangling beneath them. Stan kissing his way over Kyle's chest, Kenny burying his head in red pubic hair. Kyle moaning, Kyle grabbing at the sheets, Kyle's eyes closing, Kyle's lips parting, Kyle's pleasure. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle._

_Kyle. _

_Cartman becomes conscious that he is sporting an erection. He tries to will it away, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. It makes no difference, not when he can barely see the road ahead because of the images in front of his eyes, when all he can hear is Kyle's phantom cries and his own blood pounding in his ears._

_They have been deceiving him, cheating him. And he is aroused, embarrassed and angry. So very, very angry._

_He has to do something._

_Stan is in the hospital, he knows this much already. He was not at the game, but it was big news and he got a text about it from Butters. He had laughed when he read it. He is not laughing now. Stan is safe from his anger... for now._

_Kyle and Kenny will probably be at the hospital with him – until they are forced to leave. If Stan is merely having his leg set, then they will be thrown out once it gets too late. Or at least, one of them will. They might let one stay and that one will probably be Kyle. Kyle will be too much of a scared pussy to leave, in case Stan dies while he is gone and Kenny is not fond of hospitals. And should both of them leave, the Broflovski's will be home Saturday night but the McCormick's are unlikely to return from the bar until late. Kyle and Kenny will be comforting each other on Kenny's threadbare mattress, in a room that smells like piss and mould and damp. Or else Kenny might be alone. But it is Kenny who he is most likely to find._

_He hits the brakes, works out where he is and how he can get to the slum that Kenny calls home. He is almost all the way across the other side of town, but he has plenty of gas – his mom knows better than to not get him a full tank – and he has to do _something_. His mind is so clouded with fury that he doesn't know what that something is, but a plan will come to him. It always does. _

_And maybe God does provide for him, because as he is still about five minutes from Kenny's, he sees Kyle walking down the street. Kyle's face is dark with rage, his strides are long and his hands are shoved in his pockets. He radiates his fury as he walks. Just another angry Jew trying to get out of the ghetto. Just like the good old days._

_He pulls over to the side of the pavement, winding down the window. Kyle is so infuriated that he almost walks right past. Cartman sighs. "AY! KAAHHLL!" But he pitches his voice low. It seems like a safe thing to do and Cartman never ignores his instincts at times like this. _

_Kyle glares at Cartman. "Goddammit Cartman, I'm not in the mood for your crap right now."_

_Usually Cartman would snap right back at him, but these are unusual circumstances. "I was gonna offer you a ride back to the hospital." He looks at the sky as if for emphasis on the weather, it is snowing hard now and Kyle is not really dressed for it, still wearing the clothes he wore to the game earlier. _

_Kyle hesitates, perhaps recalling that Cartman has been a part of their gang all these years too. Okay to hang out with, if not good enough to fuck. "I'm not going to the hospital. Stan's out of surgery, but he won't wake up until tomorrow sometime, what with all the drugs. Even then, family only, y'know?"_

_Cartman nods. "Home then?"_

_Kyle gives a short, humourless laugh and shakes his head. "No. I'm just..." He indicates to the empty street. "Walking. Thinking."_

_Cartman does not reply. Most people would think that Kyle is trying to walk off his upset at Stan being badly hurt, but those are people who have not been watching Kyle almost every day of his life. Kyle is upset, sure, but he is also angry. Extremely angry. Kyle has always had a hair-trigger temper, he is the kind to lash out without thinking. His emotions take over his thoughts and that's when he makes bad decisions. _

_And he is looking at Cartman thoughtfully. Cartman has seen that look before, usually directed at himself. The need to hurt, to strike back. The need for revenge. In Kyle's eyes, he can see the memory of Scott Tennorman. Kyle needs to get payback and is coming up short on ideas; his fury demands something no less than apocalyptic._

_He goes over to the car, leaning against the frame with one hand while speaking to Cartman quietly. "I'll give you a hundred dollars if you help me come up with a way to pay back the entire football team."_

_Briefly, Cartman thinks that this car must have seen this scene played out before, with his mother in the driver's seat and some lowlife pervert offering the money. He banishes the thought; it is one that is used to being dismissed. He glances up and down the street and although he sees a shadowy figure strolling in the other direction, there is no one else in sight._

_When Kyle is angry, he makes bad decisions._

"_Get in the car."_

_Kyle goes around to the passenger side, eyes the fried chicken with some distaste – he probably feels as much like eating as Cartman himself does – and moves it to the back so that he can be seated. Once in, Cartman takes off, heading for the observation deck. His plan at this point is simple; he has some serious demoralising to do. And he intends to make this his crowning glory in that field, to use the view of an entire town to emphasise the points he has to make. _

_No words pass between them, the only sound the radio playing low, Freddy Mercury asking what is this thing that fills our dreams then slips away from us. Another fucking faggot thinks Cartman irritably. He breathes easier now, does not grip the wheel so hard, although his erection remains. He doubts Kyle will be looking in that direction and he's pretty sure his stomach covers it anyway. He has lost some of the fat, true, but he is still overweight, still has to lean forward or shift some flab to see his balls in the shower. _

_He pulls the car up at the same spot where, some ten years later, Ike Broflovski will park his own and gets out. Kyle opens his own door and steps out too, but gives Cartman a look that is both questioning and irritated._

"_Come on," says Cartman, jerking his head toward the observation deck. "I wanna show you something."_

_Kyle sighs, wrapping his arms around his body and clearly questioning the wisdom of what he is doing. But he follows and that is all that matters. Cartman leads the way to the railing and leans against it. There is no give in the wood, it may not look like much but it is sturdy enough._

"_You see what's out there?" he asks._

_Kyle stands beside him, far enough so that accidental touch would be impossible. Cartman notices this and it fuels his own hidden anger. Kyle does not trust him. Nor does Kyle want them to come into contact, even through their clothes, even accidentally. Although he is okay with Kenny's germ-ridden poor-boy hands all over his naked form, or Stan's no doubt too-gentle hippy tantric touch._

_He is quite sure that he could not be gentle with Kyle. He thinks it might be just fine to be rough, to hurt him, mark him some. Anything that would make Kyle call out _his_ name and show those Jew-loving bastards to keep their dirty hippy hands to themselves._

_There is quiet while Kyle checks out the view. Clearly, he does not know where Cartman is going with this. "South Park?"_

"_Right." Cartman's voice is low, as if they are making friendly but confidential chat. The way Kyle sometimes talks to his two boy-toys, probably when he doesn't want to be overheard discussing the duel ass-ramming he received the night before. More visions flit through Cartman's head of the three of them, more fuel for the fire._

_He walks away from the railing, Kyle remaining where he is but turning to watch Cartman's progression. Grandly, theatrically, Cartman sweeps a hand out to gesture at the view. "South Park. A redneck town full of assholes and dickweeds. And by the time word of your little ménage a trios comes out, every one of them is gonna be after blood."_

_Kyle's eyes flash and Cartman feels the familiar thrill of gratification. He is once again front and centre of Kyle's thoughts. Just where he belongs._

"_I'm not in the mood for your fucking games, fat ass."_

"_Oh, it's no game Kyle." Cartman smirks widely. "Those assholes have probably put that picture on the school website by now."_

"_Picture?" Kyle is pale, clearly it is the first he has heard of it. "What picture?"_

_Cartman laughs. "It's a helluva sight. You crawling all over Kenny, sticking your tongue down Stan's throat – shit, I'm surprised you didn't have to be surgically removed. Didn't know you had it in you. You sick fuck."_

"_It's _not_ sick!" Kyle clenches his fists, face reddening. "It's – it's not. It's not." His anger seems to subside suddenly. "I love them both. I guess you couldn't understand loving _anyone_ but yourself, but I do. It's special."_

"_It's sick," repeats Cartman, his laughter gone. He has expected the outrage, but not the confession of love. He loves them. He has enough love for both of them, but he has excluded Cartman from it. Again. "And when it gets out, it's not just the football team going after Stan you need to worry about. Fuck, they were never going to accept a queer on the team, even if he is the star player. It's every single person down there, all of them, going after him, after Kenny. And after you."_

_Kyle shakes his head. "Those guys are just jerks and they ruined Stan's career over it, but the people in town are pretty accepting of gays..."_

"_Normal gays," interrupts Cartman, back on level footing. "Gays who stick to one man at a time. Not perverts who hold orgies. You're all finished. Kenny's stuck here and so's Stan now. They'll never be able to get away from it."_

"_Goddammit Cartman, they're your friends!" Kyle is trying for reasonable, as he occasionally does when he really needs to win an argument. "Can't you do something, apart from laugh at them? Something to help? If we can strike back at the football team, it's a sign for everyone else not to mess with us! I know you don't wanna help me, but can't you do it for them?"_

"_No," says Cartman simply. "I hate those guys. So very, very much."_

_Kyle is momentarily lost for words, the silence a build up to the inevitable explosion. Cartman loves that moment. He knows it means he has gotten under Kyle's skin in the way no one else ever can. Not even his boyfriends. _

"_But I offered you a hundred dollars! Can't you come up with something for a hundred dollars?"_

"_I'm not Kenny and I'm not a whore for the cash." Cartman knows he should be feeling triumphant. He isn't. It's still all about revenge for Kyle. He knows that Cartman has discovered his secret and still isn't as infuriated by him or as afraid of what he might do as he should be. Instead, Kyle wants nothing but revenge for Stan. He does not seem to care that the whole world will know of his perversion, as long as his boyfriends are okay. Everything he is doing and saying is because of _them_._

"_Fine." Kyle pushes himself away from the railing. "I'm going. I was only going to clear my head anyway, come up with some way to make them pay." _

_Cartman's rage grows. Kyle is talking about them. Even now, he is _still_ focused only on Stan and Kenny._

"_What they did to Stan today, it might have been an accident – I thought it was a stupid prank gone wrong. But then they went after Kenny – beat him up pretty badly. He should be in the hospital himself. Not that he'll go." He gives Cartman a look of disgust. "And not that you care. If you're not gonna help us, then I've got to get back to him."_

_That is the last straw. Kyle is returning to Kenny, to tend to his war wounds and in the morning, they will go to Stan. They will be there when he wakes and they will tell each other that they can deal with this as long as they have each other. Like the three fucking Musketeers. They will not be thinking of Cartman, _he_ will not be thinking of Cartman, Cartman will cease to matter. He will mean nothing. He will be left out again and this time, there will be no going back to normal after the fact._

_Kyle takes a couple of steps toward him and Cartman reaches out and without thinking about it, shoves Kyle backward. Kyle stumbles away from him, backing into the railing. Kyle is no lightweight but he is slender and shorter than Cartman and the move has taken him by surprise._

"_You fat fuck," he snarls. "Fuck you. I don't have time for your shit right now."_

_He makes another move away from the railing and Cartman sees red. It is this dismissal, this suggestion that he is not here, that he does not even _matter_ that pisses him off the most. Kyle cannot even raise enough emotion toward him to punch him. Too preoccupied with _them_. _

_Cartman moves forward to meet him with a speed those who have seen him walk would never expect, actions totally unconscious. He grabs the front of Kyle's jacket and lifts him three inches clear of the ground, propelling him backwards, intending to shove him against the wall and spray the words into his face, make him understand; he is_ Eric Cartman_, he is supposed to be the one Kyle thinks about, the person he obsesses over. And he will damn sure make sure that he is._

_Only there is no wall._

_Kyle's back hits nothing, the back of his legs brushing against the railing. At the same time Cartman slips on the snow and almost falls forward, his self-preservation instinct making him release his grip on Kyle and search for purchase to keep himself upright._

_Unhindered by the railing, Kyle falls._

_The railing kicks his legs up, causing him to fall facing upward. Cartman has a view of his pale, startled face, eyes open wide, hand stretched out as if grasping for aid. He grips the rail and leans over, barely able to believe as Kyle hits the ground with a muffled thud. The snow scatters and only then does Cartman reach out his own hand, as if to save Kyle's life. _

The snow's deep_ he thinks. _It will be fine.

_From fuck you to fall took maybe ten seconds, but the wait for Kyle to move seems to last forever. Cartman keeps thinking – hoping – that Kyle will blink, sit up and start screaming at him. And he will laugh, mock the boy and leave him where he damn well sits, soaked through and with a long walk home awaiting him._

_But Kyle's eyes are already open. Even from this distance, he can see the flat shine of the whites, the way he is still, still. The way that the air does not cloud up as he breathes out, because he is not breathing at all. _

_He is quite annoyed by this turn of events. This was not how things were supposed to go. And now Kyle appears to be dead and he has to cover his tracks – but no, he doesn't. No one knows he is out here and no one knows that he and Kyle met up. No one has seen them up here; there is no DNA to find. And as for tracks from his feet or the car, the rapidly falling snow will take care of it._

_Knowing this, he has the time to leave the observation deck and climb safely down to where Kyle lies. He almost thinks that Kyle is laying a trap, faking it until Cartman gets to him and then jumping up to administer a beating. But Kyle has not moved and he is still not breathing. His head lies at an odd angle and there is blood beneath his head, not much but some. Cartman thinks he understands, there is less snow here because the observation deck means it is somewhat sheltered. It did not break his fall; rather the ground broke his neck. _

_He puts his fingers to the pulse point on Kyle's neck, thinking that perhaps his boyfriends have kissed that spot, feeling the heartbeat beneath. There is nothing to feel now. Kyle Broflovski is dead. Cartman stares into his face, thinking that it was not supposed to be like this – but it is he that is there with him, not them. What has happened is a little secret between the two of them._

_He plants a hand at either side of Kyle's head, unmindful of the snow, seeing the way Kyle's eyes are rolled up. It could almost be pleasure. Almost. Tentatively, he leans forward and their lips touch. Cartman runs his tongue over Kyle's bottom lip, noticing how already they are cold. It is the only form of mouth-to-mouth he attempts._

_He pulls away, runs his tongue over his own thick lips, smiles. "I was the last person to kiss you Kyle," he tells the dead boy. "It was me. It was always me."_

_He reaches out to close Kyle's eyes before leaving him for the last time, knowing that the snow will cover him as the night wears on and it might be days until he is recovered. He climbs into the car, recoiling slightly at the smell of fried chicken. From that day onward, any time he smells that, he will be instantly transported back to that night, Kyle's face as he fell, the way his lips felt, the cold. Always the cold._

_He gets home as quickly as the conditions allow and calls his mother out of her room for a stern warning that he has been there all night, should anyone ask. Then he retires to his own room, glad he has the chicken. He's hungry._

"You bastard," whispers Kenny, pale and unmoving. "You _bastard_. You murdered Kyle. You threw him over the ledge and just _left _him there. _Bastard_."

"Why now?" asked Stan and Ike can see the way his knuckles are white around the cane. "Why did you come here, why did you tell us? Not because your conscience was troubling you."

"Nah," replies Cartman, smiling gently and thumping at his chest. "Ticker. Been bad for a while and the doctors think I might not have long to go. My insurance won't cover the surgery but if I'm in jail, then I get what I need on the state. We all know I won't get more than five years for accidentally killing some pervert Jew back when I was eighteen. And I just bet that po'boy is recording everything I said."

Wordlessly, Kenny removes his phone and sure enough, it is set to voice record. Ike is not sure that it is powerful enough to catch everything that Cartman had to say, but given the three independent witnesses, it is probable that he will be arrested anyway. None of them will let him get away with it.

"I knew it," says Cartman, looking almost gleeful at being proven right. "I knew you'd have every damn piece of tech on the market just as soon as you had any cash at all. And it's not like you've got anyone else to spend it on but yourself." This time, his chuckle has a cruel edge.

"You're lying," says Ike quietly, almost meditatively. Cartman whips his head around to look at the youngest of the group but Ike barely notices. "You're not confessing to murder for free health care. Not when there are safer bets. That's just another way to make us all bitter." His brow creases as he thinks it over. "It's because you're afraid we might have forgotten about Kyle."

"Bullshit," growls Cartman.

Ike's head jerks up and his dark eyes meet Cartman's, anger reflected in them. "No, it's not. You knew all these years that we had to be wondering, theorising, wishing we knew what happened. But you knew, even if the rest of the world didn't and that made you feel smart, didn't it? Like you'd got one over on everyone. But time marches on and – what triggered it? The reunion? Or just that you woke up one morning and realised that perhaps Kenny and Stan were over it, they'd moved on with their lives. That there was a chance my parents could be showering love on their grandchildren instead of their oldest child, or maybe I couldn't remember exactly what Kyle sounded like anymore. But_ you_ couldn't forget him. We might have come to terms with not knowing, and you didn't want that. Coming here tonight, finally telling the truth – that was nothing to do with the heart you don't have. It was just to make sure you were still affecting all of our lives. To tell us and everyone else just how much cleverer you are. If you're as sick as you say you are, you couldn't bear dying without us not knowing how you finally beat Kyle in the end."

Cartman tries to hold Ike's gaze, but is unable and looks away. "You sound just like he did," he snorts. "And before you say anything, that is _not_ a compliment."

Stan glares back at Cartman. "We hated you then and we hate you now. You're scum Cartman, worse than scum. I hope you fucking die, in agony."

"At least you're thinking of me," replies Cartman, sounding unusually cheerful for someone who has just confessed to murder. "It was fucking hilarious, watching you two go out of your minds wondering what had happened. Watching you fall apart. Serves you both right though for being fucking deviants. I assume you're gonna call the cops now?"

It is Ike that actually does so, telling them to alert Sergeant Yates because this concerns him too. Cartman seems weirdly unconcerned by the call, while Kenny positions himself in front of Stan, apparently to fend off any thought the man has of attacking Cartman. Ike thinks that would be most satisfying. To see Cartman fall from the same place that Kyle fell… yes, that would be fitting.

It is less than five minutes before the first of the flashing lights comes into view, but to Ike it feels like an eternity. Like ten years of not knowing, condensed into a few minutes of knowing the truth. He keeps thinking back to how Cartman was so protective of him before he moved with his parents, thinking that it is some kind of debt to his brother. Now he knows better. It was all some sick game.

When the first cops arrive and he tells them that Cartman has admitted to murder, they do not seem surprised.

~:~

Ike stands alone, his back touching the railing over which Kyle took that final, fatal drop. There is a cop talking to Stan and Kenny, but they both look wearied and Ike is sure they are telling him the bare bones, that they will fill out the rest much later on. At the police station. Two more cops are cuffing Cartman and the fat man turns briefly to meet Ike's eyes. He cannot read the expression there; but he seems simultaneously sad and without remorse. As if he truly believes he was driven to it.

And then they are guiding him away and Cartman hangs his head as he walks past Stan and Kenny. They watch as he is taken away, wearing matching expressions of hurt and sorrow. He does not acknowledge them and Ike's last view of him is hidden as the cops push him out of sight.

Ike turns to stare down at the spot where Kyle was found, all those years ago. The scene is bathed with flashing red lights from the police car, which is not in view. He reflects that it should look like blood, but it doesn't. It must have been like this ten years ago, he thinks. Once the ambulance has taken Kyle away, while the police are breaking the news to their parents while a devastated eleven year old Ike Broflovski listens from the stairs, thinking it cannot be true, it just can't. While the police looked for clues and found only easy answers.

He looks back to Stan and Kenny. The police officer who was talking to them is leaving and they barely notice. They are looking at each other. A small smile starts on Kenny's face and he says something that Ike cannot hear. Stan replies briefly, a similar expression on his own face. There is loss there, but something else too. A new beginning perhaps.

Stan reaches out and takes Kenny's hand, lacing their fingers together. Less than a second later, Kenny's arms go around Stan and they are hugging, Kenny's head on Stan's neck, Stan's arms around Kenny's back. The hold is tight, determined, comforting. And too long overdue.

Feeling intrusive, Ike turns back to stare across the town. A new beginning then for all of them, with those old questions laid to rest – but starting again means letting go of the past. Letting go of Kyle. And the memory of Kyle has been the one thing that Ike has been able to call his anchor for the second half of his life. He has done what he intended to do and the loss of purpose frightens him. He feels keenly just as he did when he realised the cop talking to his parents was not lying, that he truly never would see Kyle again.

He covers his face with his hands as a sob breaks out of his mouth. He does not want to make a noise but the mingled feelings of grief, loss and weird emptiness need some kind of outlet. They will not stay locked away anymore. Ike feels tears running down his face and his shoulders shake as he sobs like a child, thinking that finally knowing should have set him free. He should not feel so desolate.

And then a hand is on his shoulder and he turns almost blindly to fall into Kenny's arms, still sobbing. Stan is there too, his own arm going around Ike's shoulders, the other around Kenny. Ike reaches out for both of them. He feels as if he is no longer a part of his own mind, his own body, his own feelings.

He feels as if he is saying goodbye.


	14. Back Pages

**Author Note: **Huge thanks go out to ketamine. methanol, xxSay, let's point out the obvious, J.E. McCormickGal and D McVetty for the reviews! With the major climax of the story occurring, I was a little nervous about screwing it up and I'm so glad that it worked out okay.

And here it is, the epilogue. I can't believe I actually wrote this story, and I hope that you all enjoyed it. I got a whole lot out of writing it, it's been quite the experience and I hope this final part satisfies. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and favourited throughout the story, you guys are the best and considering how nervous I was about the threesome part, I'm glad that it went down as well as it did. I'm gonna miss this story so much – but if you liked, there's also other stories of mine lurking around FF! Okay, I'll stop the blatant self-promotion now.

~:~

_Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth, "Rip down all hate," I screamed._

_Lies that life is black and white spoke from my skull. I dreamed_

_Romantic facts of musketeers, foundationed deep somehow – _

_Ah, but I was so much older then,_

_I'm younger than that now._

~:~

On Sunday morning, Ike makes the decision to go to Tweek's place, knowing he must look like shit. He hasn't slept. He had called Keiran and he had arrived only minutes later, not bitching about the lack of sex while Ike had a minor emotional breakdown. He had still been there this morning. But Ike has asked Keiran to leave him to it while he cleaned up the loose ends of his visit, of which Tweek is definitely one.

Ike drives past Tweek's house, planning to tell him that it is all over. That the person who killed Kyle is in jail and he does not have to worry, it is a long time past and all those people, the ones who made life hellish for Tweek, are gone. He wants to reassure the man that there is a life outside of those walls.

But when he pulls up outside the Tweak house, he sees two people on the step, half in the door. Tweek is one of them, his eyes screwed shut and his body shaking, but as close to the outside as he has been in years. He leans into the other person. Craig.

Craig looks up at Ike and gives a faint smile, waving at him in a way that says he has seen him, but does not want him to intrude right then. Ike waves back, does not get out of the car. Instead, he drives away and silently, wishes them all the luck in the world. They both did a kindness to his brother by keeping their information to themselves and no matter what the scene on the step means, what happens to them in the future, they both deserve it.

~:~

This time, when he rings the buzzer to Kenny's apartment, the blonde is actually there and lets Ike in without comment. Kenny looks like Ike feels; tired, hair sticking up, almost shell-shocked. But he has changed clothes and oddly seems more at peace than he had done the day before, in spite of the shock. The apartment has a new addition to it; Ike is not at all surprised to see Stan Marsh sat on the couch, his cane within easy reach. Stan is still wearing the clothes he was dressed in the night before and it is clear that he has been there all night, although Ike doubts that there was anything sexual occurring. Then again, what does he know? He does not wish to speculate far on that particular issue… but he does hope that there has been some progress with their relationship, such as it is. That the two men could get over what has happened in the past now that they have answers and maybe find some way to move forward together.

It is what Kyle would have wanted.

Ike takes the far end of the couch, Kenny drops onto the seat in the centre after offering Ike a drink, which he refuses. They sit in silence for a moment and Ike has time to reflect that he is not their third, merely a poor excuse for a stand-in, when Stan suddenly speaks. "The police came round once today already."

"Yeah?" Ike is a little surprised, it's quite early, but once this news get out there is going to be a shit-storm and no doubt they want to let Kenny and Stan in on a few things before the rumours begin and become exaggerated. "What did they say?"

Stan looks at Kenny, who shrugs. "Cartman didn't deny a thing. Told the whole story all over again. I think you were right last night, when you said he wanted to make sure we knew he outsmarted all of us – and Kyle. That's what was most important to him. He's been arrested and charged, but when it comes to trial…" Another shrug. "They think he'll take a plea bargain. He was a juvenile at the time and with the accident thing in there – he might not do much time at all."

Ike finds this bitterly unfair, the emotion reflected in the eyes of the other two men. What about _their_ time served, the ten years of not knowing, the lifetime without Kyle? What about Kyle's life, the future he had stolen from him? Cartman deserves to suffer for this and he intends to do all in his power to make sure that happens.

"He's sick," adds Kenny flatly. "I don't just mean sick in the head; I mean that he's got serious health issues. Judge might take that into account too. He might not have long to go and then he'll be dead." But not forgotten, Ike knows this too.

Stan shakes his head. "All this time I thought – well, I thought he'd been lured up there and had an accident. Turns out I was almost right. I should have known Cartman was involved in this, I should have."

"No." Kenny reaches out a hand, takes Stan's. "He covered his ass too well and no matter what we thought, we didn't know anything. And even knowing wouldn't have changed all that much – because Kyle's still just as dead."

"Knowing gave me a little peace though," says Stan, looking back at Kenny with warmth in his eyes that Ike finds almost uncomfortable to witness.

"It gave me some too," agrees Kenny, holding the gaze for a moment before looking over at Ike. "How about you?"

Ike shrugs. "I don't know how I feel. I'm glad Cartman's locked up and we know what went on now, but… I don't know. It's like I just got someone to focus all the anger on. Knowing hasn't actually _changed_ anything… it didn't bring him back. Kyle's still gone. I mean, I knew he would be, but..." He trails off, not knowing how to say just what he is feeling.

Stan looks mildly worried by this assertion, but Kenny seems to understand, because he nods his head in slow acknowledgement. "How much longer are you staying?"

"I'm not," says Ike. "That's what I came to tell you guys. That I'm leaving town today. I gotta – well, I need to go speak to Mom and Dad, although I think they'll have already had a call from the cops themselves. They need to know how it happened… they deserve some peace too."

Stan tilts his head. "Are you gonna tell them _every_thing?"

"Yeah." Ike looks back at them stoically. "I know you probably won't believe me, but once they get over the shock of Kyle being with both of you, they'll just be glad he was happy. And that they have some answers now." He hesitates a moment. "I'll see you at the trial I guess, if there is one. If he pleads guilty, then probably not…"

"But we all know how much Cartman likes a circus," finishes Kenny grimly and Ike nods. Dragging them through a long trial would make Cartman very happy, prolong the misery and Ike knows that should the plea bargain not be to Cartman's liking, then he would be pleased to put them all through that. All their secrets out in the open, Cartman the centre of attention.

"Can we take your number?" asks Stan, almost shyly. "Maybe call you once in a while, touch base?"

Ike nods again, having realised that Stan would ask this and that the two men would like to know how he is doing out of some obligation or because he is a link to Kyle – but should things go right, then they will have each other as a link to Kyle. And although the path runs both ways and they are Ike's link to Kyle too, he is not sure that he should be hanging on to Kyle's memory like the talisman it has been to him for the last ten years. He does not think that the three of them will fall entirely out of touch, but he believes contact will dwindle to the occasional card or e-mail and perhaps it is better that way. Perhaps it will be better for him to let Kyle finally recede into memory.

They exchange numbers and hugs and then Ike leaves, noticing that Stan remains behind. Maybe they can make a go of things, maybe. Maybe Kenny will finally leave this town with Stan and they can get on with a life together, as it should have been, because there is nothing left here for either of them now. For any of them. Ike does not intend to set foot in South Park again, as long as he lives. He has grown to hate the town where his brother was killed.

Although there is one thing, or rather one person, that he will miss.

He returns to the motel, packs up his things. He has left a contact number with the police should they need to speak to him, but they will have to come to him to do so. The trial, should there be one, will be in Denver and that is the closest he will ever be to the quiet little mountain town again. Things gathered, he turns in his key at the desk, Henrietta giving him an emotionless farewell, but her expression is thoughtful. Ike can feel the weight of her stare as he walks from the building.

He knows where Keiran lives, with his mother in the house he grew up in. He drives there without having to think about directions, the recall that has come to him about the town startles him on occasion – but it will never have to again. He will never have reason to walk or ride these streets and that fills him with a sense of relief. And Keiran is the one to answer when he knocks, a grin starting on his face that withers when he looks behind Ike and sees the car.

Ike bites his lip, wishing again for a hoop through it like the one Keiran wears. "I'm getting out of town," he says, looking the other straight in the eye. "I found out what I needed to and – I can't stay. Not another day, not when you know how it's gonna be once the gossips find out."

Silently, Keiran pulls the door wider so that Ike can enter and he does so, not wanting to draw out the goodbyes any longer than he has to – but not wanting to leave Keiran behind either. That is the one thing about leaving he truly will regret.

_So do something about it_ says Kyle and Ike gives a slightly rueful smile. He had almost assumed that the Kyle-voice in his head would vanish once the truth was out. Apparently, his subconscious doesn't work like that.

The living room is decorated in neutral beige; Keiran's black clothes and colourful arms look completely out of place. The man stuffs his hands in his pockets, looks at Ike, takes a breath. Looks away. "I was hoping you'd stay a little longer, but – I get it. I know why you can't. Where are you going, back home?"

"Not right away," says Ike. "I'm going to go visit my parents first. Some grim version of a road trip. Hang around there a couple days, then probably go on home from there." He pauses. "I'll miss you though. It's been great being around you. You've been the only high spot of this whole trip."

Keiran nods and Ike can see the way the gears are working in his head. "You know, thinking about what happened to Kyle and everything, and how things were with him and those other guys before he died – it got me wondering. Carpe Diem, y'know? Seize the day. That's what makes a life worth living I guess, and I keep saying that I do that, but I don't. I still live with my mom for fucks sake. I never take any real risks." His eyes meet Ike's. "When I asked if there could be something between us while you were here, that's the bravest thing I ever did in my life. Having my dick pierced doesn't compare."

Ike lets out an unexpected snort of laughter at the comment. But Keiran is nervous and rambling; he isn't sure what the hell the man is trying to say to him.

"And I guess the worst thing that can happen is that I get horribly embarrassed and even that won't matter, because you won't be here much longer. So uh…" Keiran runs his tongue over his lip ring, his words coming out in a rush. "You want some company on your road trip? I know it's not like a holiday, but I thought it'd be cool for us to spend some more time together. Perhaps find out if there's something between us that might work out and y'know. If not I can come home and let you go on home too, but if there is…" He runs out of words and simply stands there, already looking embarrassed.

Ike is impressed and shocked in equal measures. Impressed because saying that, even _thinking_ that, took a lot of balls. That Keiran is willing to uproot his life for a man he met two days before touches him. But there is shock, because that would mean Keiran leaving the safety of what he knows – and Ike too would be taking a chance.

"What about work?" he asks, the first thing to come into his mind and, when he thinks about it, completely stupid. That is the least of the issues to come up with this suggestion.

Keiran gives him an amused, anxious look. "I can pull a sickie. I'm not talking about taking off with you for the rest of my life, Ike. I just wanna prolong things for a couple of days. After that, we can talk about what happens next. For now, I just – I think there's something real between us, more than just friendship or sex or whatever. I'd like to chance finding that out."

It's a risk. Ike knows it's a risk. But it's just a couple of days really, someone to talk to while he drives to his parents, someone to share time with, stories, maybe a room when the exhaustion gets the better of him and he checks into a hotel. If things don't go right, then he has lost nothing – but if he refuses, plays it safe and leaves alone, then he _might_ have lost something. He simply doesn't know.

_Take a chance,_ says Kyle. _It's better to regret the things you did than the things you didn't._

Ike takes a deep breath, wondering what he is going to say.

"You'd better pack a bag in a hurry then. I'm leaving in fifteen minutes."

Keiran looks slightly stunned and disbelieving, as if braced for a blow that never came. Then his smile breaks out again, the one he never used as a child but that Ike seems to see a lot. "I'll be ready in ten," he promises, darting over to Ike to give him a hard but chaste kiss right on his lips and then hurries from the room and up the stairs.

"You'd better not be getting me into trouble, Kyle," murmurs Ike, but Kyle is silent on the subject this time, as if he has said all that he needs to on the matter. Ike sits, waiting for Keiran, hearing the other move around upstairs, wondering what he will do if the Kyle in his head gives way to his own voice speaking back to him. He supposes that he will cope. And he thinks that maybe, now he knows what really happened to his brother that night, he really can move on to whatever else lies in store.

**The End.**


End file.
